University  of  California  •  Berkeley 


A  TOUCH  OF  SUN  AND  OTHER  STORIES. 

I2I110,  $1.50. 

THE  DESERT  AND  THE  SOWN,      iimo,  $1.50. 

THE  PRODIGAL.  Illustrated  by  the  Author.  Square 
crown  8vo,  $1.25. 

THE  CHOSEN  VALLEY.  i6mo,  $1.25;  paper,  50 
cents. 

THE  LED-HORSE  CLAIM.  Illustrated.  i6mo,$iis. 

JOHN   BODEWIN'S  TESTIMONY.     i6mo,  $1.25. 

THE  LAST  ASSEMBLY  BALL,  and  THE  FATE 
OF  A  VOICE.  i6mo,  $1.25. 

IN  EXILE,  AND  OTHER  STORIES.     i6mo,  $1.25. 

CCEUR  D'ALENE.     A  Novel.     i6mo,  $1.25. 

THE  CUP  OF  TREMBLING,  AND  OTHER  STO- 
RIES. i6mo,  $1.25. 

THE  LITTLE  FIG-TREE  STORIES.  With  two  il- 
lustrations by  MRS.  FOOTE,  and  a  colored  Cover 
Design.  Square  i2mo,  $1.00. 

HOUGHTON,   M1FFLIN  &  CO. 
BOSTON  AND  NEW  YORK. 


A  TOUCH  OF  SUN 
AND   OTHER   STORIES 


A  TOUCH  OF  SUN 

AND  OTHER  STORIES 


BY 


MAKY  HALLOCK  FOOTE 


BOSTON   AND   NEW  YORK 
HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN  AND  COMPANY 


1903 


COPYRIGHT   1903    BY  MARY  HALLOCK  FOOTB 
ALL   RIGHTS   RESERVED 


Published  November  igoj 


CONTENTS 

FAQS 

A  TOUCH  OP  SUN 1 

THE  MAID'S  PROGRESS 81 

PILGRIMS  TO  MECCA 141 

THE  HARSHAW  BRIDE 177 


908941 


A  TOUCH   OF  SUN 


A  TOUCH  OF  SUN 


THE  five-o'clock  whistle  droned  through  the 
heat.  Its  deep,  consequential  chest-note  be- 
longed by  right  to  the  oldest  and  best  paying 
member  of  the  Asgard  group,  a  famous  mining 
property  of  northern  California. 

The  Asgard  Company  owned  a  square  league 
of  prehistoric  titles  on  the  western  slope  of  the 
foot-hills,  —  land  enough  for  the  preservation 
of  a  natural  park  within  its  own  boundaries 
where  fire-lines  were  cleared,  forest-trees  re- 
spected, and  roads  kept  up.  Wherever  the 
company  erected  a  board  fence,  gate,  or  build- 
ing, the  same  was  methodically  painted  a  color 
known  as  "  monopoly  brown. "  The  most 
conspicuous  of  these  objects  cropped  out  on 
the  sunset  dip  of  the  property  where  the 
woods  for  twenty  years  had  been  cut,  and  the 
Sacramento  valley  surges  up  in  heat  and  glare, 
with  yearly  visitations  of  malaria. 

Higher  than  the  buildings  in  brown,  a  gray- 


4  A  TOUCH  OF  SUN 

;«Kingled  bungalow  ranged  itself  on  the  lap  of 
its  broad  lawns  against  a  slope  of  orchard  tops 
climbing  to  the  dark  environment  of  the  forest. 
Not  the  original  forest:  of  that  only  three 
stark  pines  were  left,  which  rose  one  hundred 
feet  out  of  a  gulch  below  the  house  and  lent 
their  ancient  majesty  to  the  modern  uses  of 
electric  wires  and  telephone  lines.  Their 
dreaming  tops  were  in  the  sky ;  their  feet  were 
in  the  sluicings  of  the  stamp-mill  that  reared 
its  long  brown  back  in  a  semi-recumbent  pos- 
ture, resting  one  elbow  on  the  hill;  and  be- 
neath the  valley  smouldered,  a  pale  mirage  by 
day,  by  night  a  vision  of  color  transcendent 
and  rich  as  the  gates  of  the  Eternal  City. 

At  half  past  five  the  night  watchman,  on  his 
way  from  town,  stopped  at  the  superintendent's 
gate,  ran  up  the  blazing  path,  and  thrust  a 
newspaper  between  the  dark  blue  canvas  cur- 
tains that  shaded  the  entrance  of  the  porch. 
For  hours  the  house  had  slept  behind  its  heat 
defenses,  every  shutter  closed,  yards  of  piazza 
blind  and  canvas  awning  fastened  down.  The 
sun,  a  baU  of  fire,  went  slowly  down  the  west. 
Rose-vines  drooped  against  the  hanging  lat- 
tices, printing  their  watery  lines  of  split  bam- 
boo with  a  shadow-pattern  of  leaf  and  flower. 


A  TOUCH  OF  SUN  5 

The  whole  house-front  was  decked  with  dead 
roses,  or  roses  blasted  in  full  bloom,  as  if  to 
celebrate  with  appropriate  insignia  the  passing 
of  the  hottest  day  of  the  year. 

Half-way  down  the  steps  the  watchman 
stopped,  surprised  by  a  voice  from  behind  the 
curtains.  He  came  back  in  answer  to  his  name. 

A  thin  white  hand  parted  the  curtain  an 
inch  or  two.  There  was  the  flicker  of  a  fan 
held  against  the  light. 

"  Oh,  Hughson,  will  you  tell  Mr.  Thorne 
that  I  am  here?  He  does  n't  know  I  have 
come." 

"  TeU  him  that  Mrs.  Thorne  is  home?  "  the 
man  translated  slowly. 

"  Yes.  He  does  not  expect  me.  You  will 
tell  him  at  once,  please  ?  " 

"  Yes,  ma'am." 

The  curtain  was  fastened  again  from  in- 
side. A  woman's  step  went  restlessly  up  and 
down,  up  and  down  the  long  piazza  floors, 
now  muffled  on  a  rug,  now  light  on  a  matting, 
or  distinct  on  the  bare  boards. 

Later  a  soft  Oriental  voice  inquired,  "  Wha' 
time  Missa  Tho'ne  wanta  dinna?" 

"  The  usual  time,  Ito,"  came  the  answer ; 
"  make  no  difference  for  me." 


6  A  TOUCH  OF  SUN 

"  Lika  tea  —  coffee  —  after  dinna  ?  " 

"  Tea  —  iced.  Have  you  some  now  ?  Oh> 
bring  it,  please !  " 

After  an  interval :  "  Has  Mr.  Thome  been 
pretty  well?" 

"I  think." 

"  It  is  very  hot.  How  is  your  kitchen  — 
any  better  than  it  was  ?  " 

"  Missa  Tho'ne  fixa  more  screen ;  all  open 
now,  thank  you." 

"  Take  these  things  into  my  dressing-room. 
No ;  there  will  be  no  trunk.  I  shall  go  back  in 
a  few  days." 

The  gate  clashed  to.  A  stout  man  in  a  blaze 
of  white  duck  came  up  the  path,  lifting  his  cork 
helmet  slightly  to  air  the  top  of  his  head.  As 
he  approached  it  could  be  seen  that  his  duck 
was  of  a  modified  whiteness,  and  that  his  beard, 
even  in  that  forcing  weather,  could  not  be  less 
than  a  two  days'  growth.  He  threw  his  entire 
weight  on  the  steps  one  by  one,  as  he  mounted 
them  slowly.  The  curtains  were  parted  for  him 
from  within. 

"Well,  Margaret?" 

"  Well,  dear  old  man  !  How  hot  you  look ! 
Why  do  you  not  carry  an  umbrella  ?  " 

"  Because  I  have  n't  got  you  here  to  make 


A  TOUCH  OF  SUN  7 

me.  What  brought  you  back  in  such  weather  ? 
Where  is  your  telegram  ?  " 

"  I  did  not  telegraph.  There  was  no  need. 
I  simply  had  to  speak  to  you  at  once  —  about 
something  that  could  not  be  written." 

"  Well,  it  's  good  to  have  a  look  at  you 
again.  But  you  are  going  straight  back,  you 
know.  Can't  take  any  chances  on  such  weather 
as  this." 

Mr.  Thorne  sank  copiously  into  a  piazza 
chair,  and  pulled  forward  another  for  his 
wife. 

She  sat  on  the  edge  of  it,  smiling  at  him  with 
wistful  satisfaction.  Her  profile  had  a  deli- 
cate, bird-like  slant.  Pale,  crisped  auburn  hair 
powdered  with  gray,  hair  that  looked  like 
burnt-out  ashes,  she  wore  swept  back  from  a 
small,  tense  face,  full  of  fine  lines  and  fleet- 
ing expressions.  She  had  taken  off  her  high, 
close  neckwear,  and  the  wanness  of  her  throat 
showed  above  a  collarless  shirt-waist. 

"  Don't  look  at  me ;  I  am  a  wreck ! "  she 
implored,  with  a  little  exhausted  laugh.  "I 
wonder  where  my  keys  are?  I  must  get  on 
something  cool  before  dinner." 

"  Ito  has  all  the  keys  somewhere.  Ito  's  a 
gentleman.  He  takes  beautiful  care  of  me,  only 


8  A  TOUCH  OF  SUN 

he  won't  let  me  drink  as  much  shasta  as  I  want. 
What  is  that?  Iced  tea?  Bad,  bad  before 
dinner !  I  'm  going  to  watch  you  now.  You 
are  not  looking  a  bit  well.  Is  there  any  of 
that  decoction  left?  Well,  it  is  bad;  gets  on 
the  nerves,  too  much  of  it.  The  problem  of 
existence  here  is,  What  shall  we  drink,  and  how 
much  of  it  can  we  drink  ?  " 

Mrs.  Thome  laughed  out  a  little  sigh.  "  I 
have  brought  you  a  problem.  But  we  will  talk 
when  it  is  cooler.  Don't  you  —  don't  you  shave 
but  twice  a  week  when  I  am  away,  Henry  ?  " 

"  I  shave  every  day,  when  I  think  of  it.  I 
never  go  anywhere,  and  I  don't  have  anybody 
here  if  I  can  possibly  avoid  it.  It  is  all  a  man 
can  do  to  live  and  be  up  to  his  work." 

"  I  know ;  it  's  frightful  to  work  in  such 
weather.  How  the  mill  roars !  It  starts  the 
blood  to  hear  it.  Last  spring  it  sounded  like  a 
cataract ;  now  it  roars  like  heat  behind  furnace 
doors.  Which  is  your  room  now  ?  " 

"  0  Lord !  I  sleep  anywhere ;  begin  in  my 
bed  generally  and  end  on  the  piazza  floor.  It 
will  be  the  grass  if  this  keeps  on." 

Mrs.  Thome  continued  to  laugh  spasmodi- 
cally at  her  husband's  careless  speeches,  not 
at  what  he  said  so  much  as  through  content  in 


A  TOUCH  OF  SUN  9 

his  familiar  way  of  saying  things.  Under  their 
light  household  talk,  graver,  questioning  looks 
were  exchanged,  the  unappeased  glances  of 
friends  long  separated,  who  realize  on  meeting 
again  that  letters  have  told  them  nothing. 

"  Why  did  n't  you  write  me  about  this  ter- 
rible heat?" 

"  Why  did  n't  you  write  me  that  you  were 
not  well?" 

"  I  am  well." 

"  You  don't  look  it  —  anything  but." 

"  I  am  always  ghastly  after  a  journey.  It 
is  n't  a  question  of  health  that  brought  me. 
But  —  nevermind.  Ring  for  Ito,  will  you  ?  I 
want  my  keys." 

At  dinner  she  looked  ten  years  younger,  sit- 
ting opposite  him  in  her  summery  lawns  and 
laces.  She  tasted  the  cold  wine  soup,  but  ate 
nothing,  watching  her  husband's  appetite  with 
the  mixed  wonder  and  concern  that  thirty 
years'  knowledge  of  its  capacities  had  not  di- 
minished. He  studied  her  face  meanwhile ;  he 
was  accustomed  to  reading  faces,  and  hers  he 
knew  by  line  and  precept.  He  listened  to  her 
choked  little  laughs  and  hurried  speeches.  All 
her  talk  was  mere  postponement ;  she  was  fight- 
ing for  time.  Hence  he  argued  that  the  trouble 


10  A  TOUCH  OF  SUN 

which  had  sent  her  flying  home  to  him  from 
the  mountains  was  not  fancy-hred.  Of  her 
imaginary  troubles  she  was  ready  enough  to 
speak. 

The  moon  had  risen,  a  red,  'dry-weather 
moon,  when  they  walked  out  into  the  garden 
and  climbed  the  slope  under  low  orchard 
boughs.  The  trees  were  young,  too  quickly 
grown ;  like  child  mothers,  they  had  lost  their 
natural  symmetry,  overburdened  with  hasty 
fruition.  Each  slender  parent  trunk  was  the 
centre  of  a  host  of  artificial  props,  which  saved 
the  sinking  boughs  from  breaking.  Under 
one  of  these  low  green  tents  they  stopped  and 
handled  the  great  fruit  that  fell  at  a  touch. 

"  How  everything  rushes  to  maturity  here  ! 
The  roses  blossom  and  wither  the  same  hour. 
The  peaches  burst  before  they  ripen.  Don't 
you  think  it  oppresses  one,  all  this  waste  fer- 
tility, such  an  excess  of  life  and  good  living, 
one  season  crowding  upon  another  ?  How  shall 
we  get  rid  of  all  these  kindly  fruits  of  the 
earth?" 

She  did  not  wait  for  an  answer  to  her  mor- 
bid questions.  They  moved  on  up  a  path  be- 
tween hedges  of  sweet  peas  going  to  seed,  and 
blackberry-vines  covered  with  knots  of  fruit 


A  TOUCH  OF  SUN  11 

dried  in  their  own  juices.  A  wall  of  gigantic 
Southern  cane  hid  the  boundary  fence,  and 
above  it  the  night-black  pines  of  the  forest 
towered,  their  breezy  monotone  answering  the 
roar  of  the  hundred  stamps  below  the  hill. 

A  few  young  pines  stood  apart  on  a  knoll, 
a  later  extension  of  the  garden,  ungraded  and 
covered  with  pine-needles.  In  the  hollow  places 
native  shrubs,  surprised  by  irrigation,  had  made 
an  unwonted  summer's  growth. 

Here,  in  the  blanching  moon,  stood  a  tent 
with  both  flaps  thrown  back.  A  wind  of  cool- 
ness drew  across  the  hill ;  it  lifted  one  of  the 
tent-curtains  mysteriously ;  its  touch  was  sad 
and  searching. 

Mrs.  Thorne  put  back  the  canvas  and 
stepped  inside.  She  saw  a  folding  camp-cot 
stripped  of  bedding,  a  dresser  with  half -open 
drawers  that  disclosed  emptiness,  a  dusty  book- 
rack  standing  on  the  floor.  The  little  mirror 
on  the  tent-pole,  hung  too  high  for  her  own 
reflection,  held  a  darkling  picture  of  a  pine- 
bough  against  a  patch  of  stars.  She  sat  on  the 
edge  of  the  cot  and  picked  up  a  discarded 
necktie,  sawing  it  across  her  knee  mechanically 
to  free  it  from  the  dust.  Her  husband  placed 
himself  beside  her.  His  weight  brought  down 


12  A  TOUCH  OF  SUN 

the  mattress  and  rocked  her  against  his  shoul- 
der ;  he  put  his  arm  around  her,  and  she  gave 
way  to  a  little  sob. 

"  When  has  he  written  to  you  ?  "  she  asked. 
"  Since  he  went  down  ?  " 

"  I  think  so.  Let  me  see  !  When  did  you 
hear  last?" 

"  I  have  brought  his  last  letter  with  me.  I 
wondered  if  he  had  told  you." 

"  I  have  heard  nothing  —  nothing  in  par- 
ticular. What  is  it?" 

"  The  inevitable  woman." 

"  She  has  come  at  last,  has  she  ?  Come  to 
stay?" 

"  He  is  engaged  to  her." 

Mr.  Thorne  breathed  his  astonishment  in  a 
low  whistle.  "  You  don't  like  it  ? "  he  sur- 
mised at  once. 

"  Like  it !  If  it  were  merely  a  question  of 
liking !  She  is  impossible.  She  knows  it,  her 
people  know  it,  and  they  have  not  told  him. 
It  remains  " — 

"  What  is  the  girl's  name?" 

"  Henry,  she  is  not  a  girl !  That  is,  she  is 
a  girl  forced  into  premature  womanhood,  like 
all  the  fruits  of  this  hotbed  climate.  She  is 
that  Miss  Benedet  whom  you  helped,  whom 


A  TOUCH  OF  SUN  13 

you  saved  —  how  many  years  ago  ?  When 
Willy  was  a  schoolboy." 

"  Well,  she  was  saved,  presumably." 

"  Saved  from  what,  and  by  a  total  stranger !  " 

"  She  made  no  mistake  in  selecting  the 
stranger.  I  can  testify  to  that;  and  she  was 
as  young  as  he,  my  dear." 

"  A  girl  is  never  as  young  as  a  boy  of  the 
same  age.  She  is  a  woman  now,  and  she  has 
taken  his  all  —  everything  a  man  can  give  to 
his  first  —  and  told  him  nothing !" 

"  Are  you  sure  it 's  the  same  girl  ?  There 
are  other  Benedets." 

"  She  is  the  one.  His  letter  fixes  it  beyond 
a  question  —  so  innocently  he  fastens  her  past 
upon  her  !  And  he  says,  (  She  is  "  a  woman 
like  a  dewdrop."  I  wonder  if  he  knows  what 
he  is  quoting,  and  what  had  happened  to  that 
woman ! " 

"  Dewdrops  don't  linger  long  in  the  sun  of 
California.  But  she  was  undeniably  the  most 
beautiful  creature  this  or  any  other  sun  ever 
shone  on." 

"And  he  is  the  sweetest,  sanest,  cleanest- 
hearted  boy,  and  the  most  innocent  of  what 
a  woman  may  go  through  and  still  be  fair 
outside ! " 


14  A  TOUCH  OF  SUN 

"  Why,  that  is  why  she  likes  him.  It  speaks 
well  for  her,  I  think,  that  she  hankers  after 
that  kind  of  a  boy." 

"  It  speaks  volumes  for  what  she  lacks  her- 
self !  Don't  misunderstand  me.  I  hope  I  am 
not  without  charity  for  what  is  done  and  never 
can  be  undone,  —  though  charity  is  hardly  the 
virtue  one  would  hope  to  need  in  welcoming  a 
son's  wife.  It  is  her  ghastly  silence  now  that 
condemns  her." 

Mr.  Thorne  heaved  a  sigh,  and  changed  his 
feet  on  the  gritty  tent  floor.  He  stooped  and 
picked  up  some  small  object  on  which  he  had 
stepped,  a  collar-stud  trodden  flat.  He  rolled 
it  in  his  fingers  musingly. 

"  She  may  be  getting  up  her  courage  to  tell 
him  in  her  own  time  and  way." 

"  The  time  has  gone  by  when  she  could  have 
told  him  honorably.  She  should  have  stopped 
the  very  first  word  on  his  lips." 

"  She  could  n't  do  that,  you  know,  and  be 
human.  She  could  n't  be  expected  to  spare  him 
at  such  a  cost  as  that.  Mighty  few  men  would 
be  worth  it." 

"  If  he  was  n't  worth  it  she  could  have  let 
him  go.  And  the  family !  Think  of  their  ac- 
cepting his  proposal  in  silence.  Why,  can  they 


, 

A  TOUCH  OF  SUN  15 

even  be  married,  Henry,  without  some  process 
of  law?" 

"  Heaven  knows !  I  don't  know  how  far  the 
other  thing  had  gone  —  far  enough  to  make 
questions  awkward." 

Husband  and  wife  remained  seated  side  by 
side  on  the  son's  deserted  bed.  The  shape  of 
each  was  disconsolately  outlined  to  the  other 
against  the  tent's  illumined  walls.  Now  a  wind- 
swayed  branch  of  manzanita  rasped  the  can- 
vas, and  cast  upon  it  shadows  of  its  moving 
leaves. 

"  It 's  pretty  rough  on  quiet  old  folks  like  us, 
with  no  money  to  get  us  into  trouble,"  said 
Mr.  Thome.  "  The  boy  is  not  a  beauty,  he  's 
not  a  swell.  He  is  just  a  plain,  honest  boy  with 
a  good  working  education.  If  you  judge  a 
woman,  as  some  say  you  can,  by  her  choice 
of  men,  she  should  n't  be  very  far  out  of  the 
way." 

"  It  is  very  certain  you  cannot  judge  a  man 
by  his  choice  of  women." 

"  You  cannot  judge  a  boy  by  the  women 
that  get  hold  of  him.  But  Willy  is  not  such 
a  babe  as  you  think.  He  's  a  deuced  quiet 
sort,  but  he  's  not  been  knocking  around  by 
himself  these  ten  years,  at  school  and  college 


16  A  TOUCH  OF  SUN 

and  vacations,  without  picking  up  an  idea  or 
two  —  possibly  about  women.  Experience,  I 
grant,  he  probably  lacks  ;  but  he  has  the  true- 
bred  instinct.  We  always  have  trusted  him  so 
far ;  I  'm  willing  to  trust  him  now.  If  there 
are  things  he  ought  to  know  about  this  wo- 
man, leave  him  to  find  them  out  for  himself." 

"  After  he  has  married  her  !  And  you  don't 
even  know  whether  a  marriage  is  possible  with- 
out some  sort  of  shuffling  or  concealment ;  do 
you?" 

"  I  don't,  but  they  probably  do.  Her  family 
are  n't  going  to  get  themselves  into  that  kind 
of  a  scrape." 

"  I  have  no  opinion  whatever  of  the  family. 
I  think  they  would  accept  any  kind  of  a  com- 
promise that  money  can  buy." 

"  Very  likely,  and  so  would  we  if  we  had  a 
daughter  "  — 

"  Why,  we  have  a  daughter !  It  is  our 
daughter,  all  the  daughter  we  shall  ever  call 
ours,  that  you  are  talking  about.  And  to  think 
of  the  girls  and  girls  he  might  have  had  I 
Lovely  girls,  without  a  flaw  —  a  flaw !  She  will 
fall  to  pieces  in  his  hand.  She  is  like  a  broken 
vase  put  together  and  set  on  the  shelf  to  look 
at." 


A  TOUCH  OF  SUN  17 

"  Now  we  are  losing  our  sense  of  propor- 
tion. We  must  sleep  on  this,  or  it  will  blot 
out  the  whole  universe  for  us." 

"  It  has  already  for  me.  I  have  n't  a  shadow 
of  faith  in  anything  left." 

"  And  I  have  n't  read  the  paper.  Suppose 
the  boy  were  in  Cuba  now !  " 

"  I  wish  he  were  !  It  is  a  judgment  on  me 
for  wanting  to  save  him  up,  for  insisting  that 
the  call  was  not  for  him." 

"  That 's  just  it,  you  see.  You  have  to  trust 
a  man  to  know  his  own  call.  Whether  it's 
love  or  war,  he  is  the  one  who  has  got  to  an- 
swer." 

"But  you  will  write  to  him  to-morrow, 
Henry  ?  He  must  be  saved,  if  the  truth  can 
save  him.  Think  of  the  awakening  ! " 

"  My  dear,  if  he  loves  her  there  will  be  no 
awakening.  If  there  is,  he  will  have  to  take 
his  dose  like  other  men.  There  is  nothing  in 
the  truth  that  can  save  him,  though  I  agree 
with  you  that  he  ought  to  know  it  —  from 
her." 

"  If  you  had  only  told  her  your  name, 
Henry !  Then  she  would  have  had  a  finger- 
post to  warn  her  off  our  ground.  To  think 
what  you  did  for  her,  and  how  you  are  re- 
paid ! " 


18  A  TOUCH  OF  SUN 

"  It  was  a  very  foolish  thing  I  did  for  her ; 
I  wasn't  proud  of  it.  That  was  one  reason 
why  I  did  not  tell  her  my  name." 

Mr.  Thome  removed  his  weight  from  the 
cot.  The  warped  wires  twanged  back  into 
place. 

"  Come,  Maggie,  we  are  too  old  not  to  trust 
in  the  Lord  —  or  something.  Anyhow,  it 's 
cooler.  I  believe  we  shall  sleep  to-night." 

"  And  have  n't  I  murdered  sleep  for  you, 
you  poor  old  man  ?  What  a  thing  it  is  to  have 
nerve  and  no  nerves  !  I  know  you  feel  just  as 
wrecked  as  I  do.  I  wish  you  would  say  so.  I 
want  it  said  to  the  uttermost.  If  I  could  but 
—  our  only  boy  —  our  boy  of '  highest  hopes ' ! 
You  remember  the  dear  old  Latin  words  in  his 
first  l  testimonials '  ?  " 

"  They  must  have  been  badly  disappointed 
in  their  girl,  and  I  suppose  they  had  their 
'hopes,'  too." 

"  They  should  not  drag  another  into  the 
pit,  one  too  innocent  to  have  imagined  such 
treachery." 

"  I  would  n't  make  too  much  of  his  inno- 
cence. He  is  all  right  so  far  as  we  know; 
he 's  got  precious  little  excuse  for  not  being : 
but  there  is  no  such  gulf  between  any  two 


A  TOUCH  OF  SUN  19 

young  humans ;  there  can't  be,  especially  when 
one  is  a  man.  Take  my  hand.  There  's  a  step 
there." 

Two  shapes  in  white,  with  shadows  prepos- 
terously lengthening,  went  down  the  hill.  The 
long,  dark  house  was  open  now  to  the  night. 

There  is  no  night  in  the  "  stiUy  "  sense  at  a 
mine. 

The  mill  glared  through  all  its  windows 
from  the  gulch.  Sentinel  lights  kept  watch  on 
top.  The  hundred  stamps  pounded  on.  If 
they  ceased  a  moment,  there  followed  the  sob 
of  the  pump,  or  the  clang  of  a  truck-load  of 
drills  dumped  on  the  floor  of  the  hoisting- 
works,  or  the  thunder  of  rock  in  the  iron- 
bound  ore-bins.  All  was  silence  on  the  hill ; 
but  a  wakeful  figure  wrapped  in  white  went 
up  and  down  the  empty  porches,  light  as  a 
dead  leaf  on  the  wind.  It  was  the  mother, 
wasting  her  night  in  grievous  thinking,  sigh- 
ing with  weariness,  pining  for  sleep,  dreading 
the  day.  How  should  they  presume  to  tell  that 
woman's  story,  knowing  her  only  through  one 
morbid  chapter  of  her  earliest  youth,  which 
they  had  stumbled  upon  without  the  key  to  it, 
or  any  knowledge  of  its  sequel  ?  She  longed 


20  A  TOUCH  OF  SUN 

to  feel  that  they  might  be  merciful  and  not  tell 
it.  She  coveted  happiness  for  her  son,  and  in 
her  heart  was  prepared  for  almost  any  surren- 
der that  would  purchase  it  for  him.  If  the 
lure  were  not  so  great !  If  the  woman  were 
not  so  blinding  fair,  why,  then  one  might  find 
a  virtue  in.  excusing  her,  in  condoning  her 
silence,  even.  But,  clothed  in  that  power,  to 
have  pretended  innocence  as  well ! 

The  roar  of  the  stamp-heads  deadened  her 
hearing  of  the  night's  subtler  noises.  Her 
thoughts  went  grinding  on,  crushing  the  hard 
rock  of  circumstance,  but  incapable  of  picking 
out  the  grains  of  gold  therein.  Later  sif tings 
might  discover  them,  but  she  was  reasoning 
now  under  too  great  human  pressure  for  deli- 
cate analysis. 

She  saw  the  planets  set  and  the  night-mist 
cloak  the  valley.  By  four  o'clock  daybreak 
had  put  out  the  stars.  She  went  to  her  room 
then  and  fell  asleep,  awakening  after  the  heat 
had  begun,  when  the  house  was  again  dark- 
ened for  the  day's  siege. 

She  was  still  postponing,  wandering  through 
the  darkened  rooms,  peering  into  closets  and 
bureau  drawers  to  see,  from  force  of  habit,  how 
Ito  discharged  his  trust. 


A  TOUCH  OF  SUN  21 

At  luncheon  she  asked  her  husband  if  he 
had  written.  He  made  a  gesture  expressing 
his  sense  of  the  hopelessness  of  the  situation 
in  general. 

"  You  know  how  I  came  by  my  knowledge, 
and  how  little  it  amounts  to  as  a  question  of 
facts." 

"  Henry,  how  can  you  trifle  so !  You  be- 
lieve, just  as  I  do,  that  such  facts  would  wreck 
any  marriage.  And  you  are  not  the  only  one 
who  knows  them.  I  think  your  knowledge 
was  providentially  given  you  for  the  saving  of 
your  son." 

"  My  son  is  a  man.  /can't  save  him.  And 
take  my  word  for  it,  he  will  go. all  lengths  now 
before  he  will  be  saved." 

"  Let  him  go,  then,  with  his  eyes  open,  not 
blindfold,  in  jeopardy  of  other  men's  tongues." 

Mr.  Thome  rose  uneasily. 

"  Do  as  you  think  you  must ;  but  it  rather 
seems  to  me  that  I  am  bound  to  respect  that 
woman's  secret." 

"  You  wish  that  you  had  not  told  me." 

"  Well,  I  have,  and  I  suppose  that  was  part 
of  the  providence.  It  is  in  your  hands  now ; 
be  as  easy  on  her  as  you  can." 

With  a  view  to  being  "  easy,"  Mrs.  Thorne 


22  A  TOUCH  OF  SUN 

resolved  not  to  expatiate,  but  to  give  the  story 
on  plain  lines.  The  result  was  hardly  as  mer- 
ciful as  might  have  been  expected. 

"  DEAR  WILLY,"  she  wrote :  "Prepare  your- 
self for  a  most  unhappy  letter  [what  woman 
can  forego  her  preface  ?]  —  unhappy  mother 
that  I  am,  to  have  such  a  message  laid  upon 
me.  But  you  will  understand  when  you  have 
read  why  the  cup  may  not  pass  from  us.  If 
ever  again  a  father  or  a  mother  can  help  you, 
my  son,  you  have  us  always  here,  poor  in  com- 
fort though  we  are.  It  seems  that  the  com- 
forters of  our  childhood  have  little  power  over 
those  hurts  that  come  with  strength  of  years. 

"  Seven  years  ago  this  summer  your  father 
went  to  the  city  on  one  of  his  usual  trips. 
Everything  was  usual,  except  that  at  Colfax 
he  noticed  a  pair  of  beautiful  thoroughbred 
horses  being  worked  over  by  the  stablemen, 
and  a  young  fellow  standing  by  giving  direc- 
tions. The  horses  had  been  overridden  in  the 
heat.  It  was  such  weather  as  we  are  having 
now.  The  young  man,  who  appeared  to  have 
everything  to  say  about  them,  was  of  the  coun- 
try sporting  type,  distinctly  not  the  gentle- 
man. In  a  cattle  country  he  would  have  been 


A  TOUCH  OF  SUN  23 

a  cowboy  simply.  Your  father  thought  he 
might  have  been  employed  on  some  of  the 
horse-breeding  ranches  below  Auburn  as  a 
trainer  of  young  stock.  He  even  wondered  if 
he  could  have  stolen  the  animals. 

"  But  as  the  train  moved  out  it  appeared  he 
had  appropriated  something  of  greater  value 
—  a  young  girl,  also  a  thoroughbred. 

"  It  did  not  need  the  gossip  of  the  train- 
hands  to  suggest  that  this  was  an  elopement 
of  a  highly  sensational  kind.  Father  was  in- 
dignant at  the  jokes.  You  know  it  is  a  saying 
with  the  common  sort  of  people  that  in  Cali- 
fornia elopements  become  epidemic  at  certain 
seasons  of  the  year  —  like  earthquake  shocks 
or  malaria.  The  man  was  handsome  in  a 
primitive  way  —  worlds  beneath  the  girl,  who 
was  simply  and  tragically  a  lady.  Father  sat 
in  the  same  car  with  them,  opposite  their  sec- 
tion. It  grew  upon  him  by  degrees  that  she 
was  slowly  awakening,  as  one  who  has  been 
drugged,  to  a  stupefied  consciousness  of  her 
situation.  He  thought  there  might  still  be 
room  for  help  at  the  crisis  of  her  return  to  rea- 
son (I  mean  all  this  in  a  spiritual  sense),  and 
so  he  kept  near  them.  They  talked  but  little 
together.  The  girl  seemed  stunned,  as  I  say, 


24  A  TOUCH  OF  SUN 

by  physical  exhaustion  or  that  dawning  com- 
prehension in  which  your  father  fancied  he 
recognized  the  tragic  element  of  the  situation. 

"  The  young  man  was  outwardly  self-pos- 
sessed, as  horsemen  are,  but  he  seemed  con- 
strained with  the  girl.  They  had  no  conversa- 
tion, no  topics  in  common.  He  kept  his  place 
beside  her,  often  watching  her  in  silence,  but 
he  did  not  obtrude  himself.  She  appeared  to 
have  a  certain  power  over  him,  even  in  her 
helplessness,  but  it  was  slipping  from  her.  In 
her  eyes,  as  they  rested  upon  him  in  the  hot 
daylight,  your  father  believed  that  he  saw  a 
wild  and  gathering  repulsion.  So  he  kept 
near  them. 

"  The  train  was  late,  having  waited  at  Col- 
fax  two  hours  for  the  Eastern  Overland,  else 
they  would  have  been  left,  those  two,  and  your 
father  —  but  such  is  fate ! 

"  It  was  ten  o'clock  when  they  reached  Oak- 
land. He  lost  the  pair  for  a  moment  in  the 
crowd  going  aboard  the  boat,  but  saw  the  girl 
again  far  forward,  standing  alone  by  the  rail. 
He  strolled  across  the  deck,  not  appearing  to 
have  seen  her.  She  moved  a  trifle  nearer ;  with 
her  eyes  on  the  water,  speaking  low  as  if  to 
herself,  she  said :  - — 


A  TOUCH  OF  SUN  25 

" 1 1  am  in  great  danger.  Will  you  help 
me  ?  If  you  will,  listen,  but  do  not  speak  or 
come  any  nearer.  Be  first,  if  you  can,  to  go 
ashore  ;  have  a  carriage  ready,  and  wait  until 
you  see  me.  There  will  be  a  moment,  perhaps 
—  only  a  moment.  Do  not  lose  it.  You  un- 
derstand ?  He,  too,  will  have  to  get  a  carriage. 
When  he  comes  for  me  I  shall  be  gone.  Tell 
the  driver  to  take  me  to  — '  she  gave  the 
number  of  a  well-known  residence  on  Van  Ness 
Avenue. 

"He  looked  at  her  then,  and  said  qui- 
etly, 'The  Benedet  house  is  closed  for  the 
summer/ 

"  She  hung  her  head  at  the  name.  '  Prom- 
ise me  your  silence  ! '  she  implored  in  the  same 
low,  careful  voice. 

" '  I  will  protect  you  in  every  way  consistent 
with  common  sense/  your  father  answered, 
(  but  I  make  no  promises.' 

" ( I  am  at  your  mercy/  she  said,  and  added, 
1  but  not  more  than  at  his.' 

" '  Is  this  a  case  of  conspiracy  or  violence  ? ' 
your  father  asked. 

"  She  shook  her  head.  '  I  cannot  accuse 
him.  I  came  of  my  own  free  will.  That  is 
why  I  am  helpless  now.' 


26  A  TOUCH  OF  SUN 

" '  I  do  not  see  how  I  can  help  you/  said 
father. 

" '  You  can  help  me  to  gain  time.  One  hour 
is  all  I  ask.  Will  you  or  not  ? '  she  said.  *  Be 
quick  !  He  is  coming/ 

"  <  I  must  go  with  you,  then,'  your  father 
answered,  '  I  will  take  you  to  this  address,  but 
I  need  not  tell  you  the  house  is  empty.' 

11 '  There  are  people  in  the  coachman's 
lodge,'  she  answered.  Then  her  companion 
approached,  and  no  more  was  said. 

"  But  the  counter-elopement  was  accom- 
plished as  only  your  father  could  manage  such 
a  matter  on  the  spur  of  the  moment  —  conse- 
quences accepted  with  his  usual  philosophy 
and  bonhomie.  If  he  could  have  foreseen  all 
the  consequences,  he  would  not,  I  think,  have 
refused  to  give  her  his  name. 

"He  left  her  at  the  side  entrance,  where 
she  rang  and  was  admitted  by  an  oldish,  re- 
spectable looking  man,  who  recognized  her 
evidently  with  the  greatest  surprise.  Then 
your  father  carried  out  her  final  order  to  wire 
Norwood  Benedet,  Jr.,  at  Burlingame,  to  come 
home  that  night  to  the  house  address  and 
save  —  she  did  not  say  whom  or  what ;  there 
she  broke  off,  demanding  that  your  father 


A  TOUCH  OF  SUN  27 

compose  a  message  that  should  bring  him  as 
sure  as  life  and  death,  but  tell  no  tales.  I  do 
not  know  how  she  may  have  put  it  —  these 
are  my  own  words. 

"  There  was  a  paragraph  in  one  newspaper, 
next  morning,  which  gave  the  girl's  full  name, 
and  a  fancy  sketch  of  her  elopement  with  the 
famous  range-rider  Dick  Malaby.  This  was 
just  after  the  close  of  the  cattlemen's  war  in 
Wyoming.  Malaby  had  fought  for  one  of  the 
ruined  English  companies.  (The  big  owners 
lost  everything,  as  you  know.  The  country 
was  up  in  arms  against  them  ;  they  could  not 
protect  their  own  men.)  Malaby 's  employers 
were  friends  of  the  Benedets,  and  had  asked 
a  place  with  them  for  their  liegeman.  He  was 
a  desperado  with  a  dozen  lives  upon  his  head, 
but  men  like  Norwood  Benedet  and  his  set 
would  have  been  sure  to  make  a  pet  of  him. 
One  could  see  how  it  all  had  come  about,  and 
what  a  terrible  publicity  such  a  name  asso- 
ciated with  hers  would  give  a  girl  for  the  rest 
of  her  life. 

"  But  money  can  do  a  great  deal.  Society 
was  out  of  town ;  the  newspapers  that  society 
reads  were  silent. 

"It  was  announced  a  few  days  later  that 


28  A  TOUCH  OF  SUN 

Mrs.  Benedet  and  her  daughter  Helen  had 
gone  East  on  their  way  to  Europe.  As  Mr. 
Benedet's  health  was  very  bad,  —  this  was  only 
six  months  before  he  died,  —  society  won- 
dered ;  but  it  has  been  accustomed  to  wonder- 
ing about  the  Benedets. 

"  Mrs.  Benedet  came  home  at  the  time  of 
her  husband's  death  and  remained  for  a  few 
months,  but  Helen  was  kept  away.  You  know 
they  have  continually  been  abroad  for  the  last 
seven  years,  and  Helen  has  never  been  seen  in 
society  here.  When  you  spoke  of  *  Miss  Bene- 
det' I  no  more  thought  of  her  than  if  she 
had  not  been  living.  Aunt  Frances  met  them 
last  winter  at  Cannes,  and  Mrs.  Benedet  said 
positively  that  they  had  no  intention  of  com- 
ing back  to  California  ever  to  live.  Aunt 
Frances  wondered  why,  with  their  beautiful 
homes  empty  and  going  to  destruction.  I 
have  told  you  the  probable  reason.  Whether 
it  still  exists,  God  knows  —  or  what  they 
have  done  with  that  man  and  his  dreadful 
knowledge. 

"Helen  Benedet  may  have  changed  her 
spiritual  identity  since  she  made  that  fatal 
journey,  but  she  can  hardly  have  forgotten 
what  she  did.  She  must  know  there  is  a  man 


A  TOUCH  OF  SUN  29 

who,  if  he  lives,  holds  her  reputation  at  the 
mercy  of  his  silence.  Money  can  do  a  great 
deal,  but  it  cannot  do  everything. 

"  I  am  tempted  to  wish  that  we — your  father 
and  I  —  could  share  your  ignorance,  could 
trust  as  you  do.  Better  a  common  awakening 
for  us  all,  than  that  I  should  be  the  one 
necessity  has  chosen  to  apply  the  torture  to 
iny  son. 

"  The  misery  of  this  will  make  you  hate  my 
handwriting  forever.  But  why  do  I  babble? 
You  do  not  hear  me.  God  help  you,  my 
dear!" 

These  words,  descriptive  of  her  own  emo- 
tions, Mrs.  Thome  on  re-reading  scored  out, 
and  copied  the  last  page. 

She  did  not  weep.  She  ached  from  the  im- 
possibility of  weeping.  She  stumbled  away 
from  her  desk,  tripping  in  her  long  robes,  and 
stretched  herself  out  at  full  length  on  the  floor, 
like  a  girl  in  the  first  embrace  of  sorrow.  But 
hearing  Ito's  footsteps,  she  rose  ashamed,  and 
took  an  attitude  befitting  her  years. 

The  letter  was  absently  sealed  and  ad- 
dressed ;  there  was  no  reason  why  the  shaft 
should  not  go  home.  Yet  she  hesitated.  It 


30  A  TOUCH  OF  SUN 

were  better  that  she  should  read  it  to  her  hus- 
band first. 

The  sun  dropped  below  the  piazza  roof  and 
pierced  the  bamboo  lattices  with  lines  and  slits 
of  fervid  light. 

"  From  heat  to  heat  the  day  declined." 

The  gardener  came  with  wet  sacking  and 
swathed  the  black-glazed  jardinieres,  in  which 
the  earth  was  steaming.  The  mine  whistle 
blared,  and  a  rattle  of  miners'  carts  followed, 
as  the  day-shift  dispersed  to  town.  The  mine 
did  not  board  its  proletariate.  At  his  usual 
hour  the  watchman  braved  the  blinding  path, 
and  left  the  evening  paper  on  the  piazza  floor. 
There  it  lay  unopened.  Mrs.  Thorne  fanned 
herself  and  looked  at  it.  There  must  be  fight- 
ing in  Cuba ;  she  did  not  move  to  see.  Other 
mothers'  sons  were  dying ;  what  was  death  to 
such  squalor  as  hers  ?  Sorrow  is  a  queen,  as 
the  poet  says,  and  sits  enthroned ;  but  Trouble 
is  a  slave.  Mothers  with  griefs  like  hers  must 
suffer  in  the  fetters  of  silence. 

When  dinner  was  over,  Ito  made  his  nightly 
pilgrimage  through  the  house,  opening  bed- 
room shutters,  fastening  curtains  back.  He 
drew  up  the  piazza-blinds,  and  like  a  stage- 


A  TOUCH  OF  SUN  31 

scene,  framed  in  post  and  balustrade,  and 
bordered  with  a  tracery  of  rose-vines,  the  val- 
ley burst  upon  the  view.  Its  cool  twilight 
colors,  its  river-bed  of  mist,  added  to  the  depth 
of  distance.  Against  it  the  white  roses  looked 
whiter,  and  the  pink  ones  caught  fire  from  the 
intense,  great  afterglow. 

The  silent  couple,  drinking  their  coffee  out- 
side, drew  a  long  mutual  sigh. 

"  Every  day,"  said  Mrs.  Thorne,  "  we  won- 
der why  we  stay  in  such  a  place,  and  every 
evening  we  are  cajoled  into  thinking  there 
never  can  be  such  another  day.  And  the 
beauty  is  just  as  fresh  every  night  as  the  heat 
is  preposterous  by  day." 

"  It 's  a  great  strain  on  the  men,"  said  Mr. 
Thorne.  "  We  lost  two  of  our  best  hands  this 
week  —  threw  down  their  tools  and  quit,  for 
some  tomfoolery  they  would  n't  have  noticed 
a  month  ago.  The  bosses  irritate  the  men, 
and  the  men  get  fighting  mad  in  a  minute. 
Not  one  of  them  will  bear  the  weight  of  a 
word,  and  I  don't  blame  them.  The  work  is 
hard  enough  in  decent  weather;  they  are 
dropping  off  sick  every  day.  The  night-shift 
boys  can't  sleep  in  their  hot  little  houses  — 
they  look  as  if  they  'd  all  been  on  a  two 


32  A  TOUCH  OF  SUN 

weeks'  tear.  The  next  improvement  we  make 
I  shall  build  a  rest-house  where  the  night-shift 
can  turn  in  and  sleep  inside  of  stone  walls, 
without  crying  babies  and  scolding  wives  clat- 
tering around.  This  heat  every  summer  costs 
us  thousands  of  dollars  in  delays,  from  wear 
and  tear  and  extra  strain  —  tempers  and  nerves 
giving  out,  men  getting  frantic  and  jerking 
things.  I  believe  it  breeds  a  form  of  acute 
mania  when  it  keeps  on  like  this." 

"Yes,  the  point  of  view  changes  the  in- 
stant the  sun  goes  down,"  said  Mrs.  Thome. 
"  I  am  glad  I  did  not  send  my  letter.  Will 
you  let  me  read  it  to  you,  Henry  ?  " 

"  Not  now ;  let  us  enjoy  the  peace  of  God 
while  it  lasts."  He  stretched  himself  on  his 
back  on  the  rattan  lounge,  and  folded  his 
hands  on  that  part  of  his  person  which  illus- 
trated, geographically  speaking,  the  great 
Continental  Divide.  The  locked  hands  rose 
softly  up  and  down.  His  wife  fanned  him  in 
silence. 

He  turned  his  head  and  looked  at  her ;  her 
tired  eyes,  the  dragged  lines  about  her  mouth, 
disturbed  his  sense  of  rest.  He  took  the  fan 
from  her  and  returned  her  attention  vigor- 
ously. "  Please  don't !  "  she  said  with  a  little 


A  TOUCH  OF  SUN  33 

teased  laugh.  She  rearranged  the  lock  he 
had  blown  across  her  forehead.  His  larger 
help  she  needed,  but  he  had  seldom  known 
how  to  pet  her  in  h'ttle  ways. 

"  I  think  you  ought  to  let  me  read  it  to 
you,"  she  said.  "  There  is  nothing  so  difficult 
as  telling  the  truth,  even  about  one's  self,  and 
when  it 's  another  person  "  — 

"  That 's  what  I  claim ;  she  is  the  only  one 
who  can  tell  it." 

"  This  is  a  case  of  first  aid  to  the  injured," 
she  sighed.  "  I  may  not  be  a  surgeon,  but  I 
must  do  what  I  can  for  my  son." 

Then  there  was  silence ;  the  valley  grew 
dimmer,  the  sky  nearer  and  more  intense. 

"  Yes,  the  night  forgives  the  day,"  after  a 
while  she  said ;  "  it  even  forgets.  And  we  for- 
get what  we  were,  and  what  we  did,  when  we 
were  young.  What  is  the  use  of  growing  old 
if  we  can't  learn  to  forgive?"  she  vaguely 
pleaded ;  and  suddenly  she  began  to  weep. 

The  rattle  of  a  miner's  cart  broke  in  upon 
them ;  it  stopped  at  the  gate.  Mr.  Thome  half 
rose  and  looked  out ;  a  man  was  hurrying  up 
the  walk.  He  waved  with  his  cane  for  him 
to  stop  where  he  was.  Messengers  at  this  hour 
were  usually  bearers  of  bad  news,  and  he  did 


34  A  TOUCH  OF  SUN 

not  choose  that  his  wife  should  know  all  the 
troubles  of  the  mines. 

The  two  men  conversed  together  at  the 
gate ;  then  Mr.  Thorne  returned  to  explain. 

"I  must  go  over  to  the  office  a  moment, 
and  I  may  have  to  go  to  the  power-house." 

"Is  anybody  hurt?" 

"  Only  a  pump.  Don't  think  of  things,  dear. 
Just  keep  cool  while  you  can." 

"  For  pity's  sake,  there  is  a  carriage  !  "  Mrs. 
Thorne  exclaimed.  "  We  are  going  to  have  a 
visitor.  Fancy  making  calls  after  such  a  day 
as  this ! " 

Mr.  Thorne  hurried  away  with  manlike 
promptitude  in  the  face  of  a  social  obligation. 
The  mistress  stepped  inside  and  gave  an  order 
to  Ito. 

As  she  returned,  a  lady  was  coming  up  the 
walk.  She  was  young  and  tall,  and  had  a  dis- 
tant effect  of  great  elegance.  She  held  herself 
very  erect,  and  moved  with  the  rapid,  swim- 
ming step  peculiar  to  women  who  are  accus- 
tomed to  the  eyes  of  critical  assemblages.  Her 
thin  black  dress  was  too  elaborate  for  a  coun- 
try drive  ;  it  was  a  concession  to  the  heat 
which  yet  permitted  the  wearing  of  a  hat,  a 
filmy  creation  supporting  a  pair  of  wings  that 


A  TOUCH  OF  SUN  35 

started  up  from  her  beautiful  head  like  white 
flames.  But  Mrs.  Thome  chiefly  observed  the 
look  of  tense  preparation  in  the  face  that  met 
hers.  She  retreated  a  little  from  what  she  felt 
to  be  a  crisis  of  some  sort,  and  her  heart  beat 
hard  with  acute  agitation. 

"Mrs.  Thome?"  said  the  visitor.  "Do  I 
need  to  tell  you  who  I  am?  Has  any  one 
forewarned  you  of  such  a  person  as  Helen 
Benedet?"  " 

The  two  women  clasped  hands  hurriedly. 
The  worn  eyes  of  the  elder,  strained  by  night- 
watchings,  drooped  under  the  young,  dark 
ones,  reinforced  by  their  splendor  of  brows  and 
lashes. 

"It  was  very  sweet  of  you  to  come,"  she 
said  in  a  lifeless  voice. 

"  Without  an  invitation  !  You  did  not  ex- 
pect me  to  be  quite  so  sweet  as  that  ?  " 

Mrs.  Thorne  did  not  reply  to  this  challenge. 
"  You  are  not  alone  ?  "  she  asked  gently. 

"  I  am  alone,  dear  Mrs.  Thorne.  I  am  every- 
thing I  ought  not  to  be.  But  you  will  not 
mind  for  an  hour  or  two  ?  It 's  a  great  deal  to 
ask  of  you,  this  hot  night,  I  know." 

"  You  must  not  think  of  going  back  to- 
night." Mrs.  Thorne  glanced  at  the  hired 


36  A  TOUCH  OF  SUN 

carriage  from  town.  "  Did  you  come  on  pur- 
pose, this  dreadful  weather,  my  dear  ?  I  am 
very  stupid,  but  I  've  only  just  come  myself." 

"  Oh,  you  are  angelic  !  I  heard  at  Colfax, 
as  we  were  coming  up,  that  you  were  at  the 
mine.  I  came  —  by  main  strength.  But  I 
should  have  come  somehow.  Have  you  peo- 
ple staying  with  you?  You  look  so  very  gay 
with  your  lights  —  you  look  like  a  whole  com- 
munity." 

"  We  have  no  lights  here,  you  see  ;  we  are 
anything  but  gay.  We  were  talking  of  you 
only  just  now,"  Mrs.  Thorne  added  infelici- 
tously. 

The  other  did  not  seem  to  hear  her.  She 
let  her  eyes  rove  down  the  lengths  of  empty 
piazza.  The  close-reefed  awnings  revealed  the 
stars  above  the  trees,  dark  and  breezeless  on 
the  lawn.  The  matted  rose-vines  clung  to  the 
pillars  motionless. 

"  What  a  strange,  dear  place ! "  she  mur- 
mured. "  And  there  is  no  one  here  ?  " 

"  No  one  at  all.  We  are  quite  alone.  We 
really  must  have  you." 

"  I  will  stay,  then.  It 's  perfectly  fearful, 
all  I  have  to  say  to  you.  I  shall  tire  you  to 
death." 


A  TOUCH  OF  SUN  37 

Ito,  appearing,  was  ordered  to  send  away 
the  lady's  carriage. 

"  May  he  bring  me  a  glass  of  water  ?  Just 
water,  please."  The  tall  girl,  in  her  long  black 
dress,  moved  to  and  fro,  making  a  pretense  of 
the  view  to  escape  observation. 

"  What  is  that  sloping  house  that  roars  so  ? 
It  sounds  like  a  house  of  beasts.  Oh,  the 
stamps,  of  course  !  There  goes  one  on  the  bare 
metal.  Did  anything  break  then  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no,"  said  Mrs.  Thome ;  "  things  do 
not  break  so  easily  as  that  in  a  stamp-mill. 
Only  the  rock  gets  broken." 

Ito  returned  with  a  tray  of  iced  soda,  and 
was  spoken  to  aside  by  his  mistress. 

"  It 's  quite  a  farce,"  she  said,  "  preparing 
beds  for  our  friends  in  this  weather.  No  one 
sleeps  until  after  two,  and  then  it  is  morning ; 
and  though  we  shut  out  the  heat,  it  beats  on 
the  walls  and  burns  up  the  air  inside,  and  we 
wake  more  tired  than  ever." 

"  Let  us  not  think  of  sleep  !  I  need  all  the 
night  to  talk  in.  I  have  to  tell  you  impossible 
things." 

"  Is  Willy's  father  to  be  included  in  this 
talk  ?  "  Mrs.  Thorne  inquired ;  "  because  he  is 
coming  —  he  is  there  at  the  gate." 


38  A  TOUCH  OF  SUN 

She  rose  uneasily.  Her  visitor  rose,  too,  and 
together  they  watched  the  man's  unconscious 
figure  approaching.  An  electric  lamp  above 
the  gate  threw  long  shadows,  like  spokes  of  a 
wheel,  across  the  grass.  Mr.  Thome's  face  was 
invisible  till  he  had  reached  the  steps. 

"  Henry,"  said  his  wife,  "  you  do  not  see  we 
have  a  visitor." 

He  took  off  his  hat,  and  perceiving  a  young 
lady,  waved  her  a  gallant  and  playful  greeting, 
assuming  her  to  be  a  neighbor.  Miss  Benedet 
stepped  back  without  speaking. 

"  God  bless  me ! "  said  Thome  simply,  when 
his  wife  had  named  their  guest,  and  so  left 
the  matter,  for  Miss  Benedet  to  acknowledge 
or  deny  their  earlier  meeting. 

Mrs.  Thome  gave  her  little  coughing  laugh. 

"  Well,  you  two  ! "  she  said  with  ghastly 
gayety.  "  Must  I  repeat,  Henry,  that  this 
is"  — 

"  He  is  trying  to  think  where  he  has  seen 
me  before,"  said  Helen  Benedet.  There  was  a 
ring  in  her  voice  like  that  of  the  stamp-heads 
on  the  bare  steel. 

"  I  am  wondering  if  you  remember  where 
you  saw  me  before,"  Thome  retorted.  He  did 
not  like  the  young  lady's  presence  there.  He 


A  TOUCH  OF  SUN  39 

thought  it  extraordinary  and  rather  brazen. 
And  he  liked  still  less  to  be  drawn  into  a  wo- 
man's parlance. 

Mrs.  Thome  sat  still,  trembling.  "  Henry, 
tell  her !  Speak  to  her  !  " 

Miss  Benedet  turned  from  husband  to  wife. 
Her  face  was  very  pale.  "  Ah,"  she  said, "  you 
knew  about  me  all  the  time !  He  has  told  you 
everything  —  and  you  called  me  '  my  dear ' ! 
Is  it  easy  for  you  to  say  such  things  ?  " 

"  Never  mind,  never  mind !  What  did  you 
wish  to  say  to  me  ?  What  was  it  ?  " 

"  Give  me  a  moment,  please !  This  alters 
everything.  I  must  get  accustomed  to  this 
before  we  go  any  further." 

She  reached  out  her  white  arm  with  the  thin 
sleeve  wrinkled  over  it,  and  helped  herself 
again  to  water.  In  every  gesture  there  was  the 
poise  and  distinction  of  perfect  self-command, 
a  highly  wrought  self-consciousness,  as  far  re- 
moved from  pose  as  from  Nature's  simplicity. 
Natural  she  could  never  be  again.  No  woman 
is  natural  who  has  a  secret  experience  to  guard, 
whether  of  grief  or  shame,  her  own  or  of  any 
belonging  to  her. 

"  You  are  the  very  man,"  she  said,  "  the  one 
who  would  not  promise.  And  you  kept  your 


40  A  TOUCH  OF  SUN 

word  and  told  your  wife.  And  Jiow  long  have 
you  known  of  —  of  this  engagement? " 

Mr.  Thome  looked  at  his  wife. 

"  Only  a  few  days,"  she  said. 

"Still,  there  has  been  time,"  the  girl  re- 
flected. She  let  her  voice  fall  from  its  high 
society  pitch.  "  I  did  not  dream  there  was  so 
much  mercy  in  the  world  —  among  parents  ! 
You  both  knew,  and  you  have  not  told  him. 
You  deserve  to  have  Willy  for  your  son  ! " 

Mrs.  Thorne  leaned  forward  to  speak.  Her 
husband,  guessing  what  trouble  her  conscience 
would  be  making  her,  forestalled  the  effort  with 
a  warning  look.  "  There  was  no  mercy  in  the 
case,"  he  bluntly  said ;  "  we  do  not  know  your 
story." 

Miss  Benedet  continued,  as  if  thinking 
aloud :  "  Yet  you  gave  me  that  supreme  trust, 
that  I  would  tell  him  myself !  I  have  not,  and 
now  it  is  too  late.  Now  I  can  never  know  how 
he  would  have  taken  it  had  he  known  in  time. 
I  do  not  want  his  forgiveness,  you  may  be  sure, 
or  his  toleration.  I  must  be  what  I  was  to  him 
or  nothing.  You  will  tell  him,  and  then  he  will 
understand  the  letter  I  wrote  him  last  night, 
breaking  the  engagement.  We  may  be  honest 
with  each  other  now ;  there  is  no  peace  of  the 


A  TOUCH  OF  SUN  41 

family  to  provide  for.  This  night's  talk,  and  I 
leave  myself,  my  whole  self,  with  you,  to  do 
with  as  you  think  best  for  him.  If  you  think 
better  to  have  it  over  at  one  blow,  tell  him  the 
worst.  The  facts  are  enough  if  you  leave  out 
the  excuses.  But  if  you  want  to  soften  it  for 
the  sake  of  his  faith  in  general,  —  is  n't  there 
some  such  idea,  that  men  lose  their  faith  in 
all  women  through  the  fault  of  one  ?  —  why, 
soften  it  all  you  like.  Make  me  the  victim  of 
circumstances.  I  can  show  you  how.  I  had 
forgiven  myself,  you  know.  I  thought  I  was 
as  good  as  new.  I  had  forgotten  I  had  a  flaw. 
And  I  was  so  tired  of  being  on  the  defensive. 
Now  at  last,  I  said,  I  shall  have  a  friend  !  You 
know —  do  you  know  what  a  restful,  imper- 
sonal manner  your  son  has  ?  What  quiet  eyes ! 
We  rode  and  talked  together  like  two  young 
men.  It  seems  a  pleasure  common  enough 
with  some  girls,  but  I  never  had  it ;  lads  of 
my  own  age  were  debarred  when  I  was  a  girl. 
I  had  neither  girls  nor  boys  to  play  with.  Girl 
friends  were  dealt  out  to  me  to  fit  my  sup- 
posed needs,  but  taken  that  way  as  medicine  I 
did  n't  find  them  very  interesting.  If  I  clung 
to  one  more  than  another,  that  one  was  not 
asked  soon  again  for  fear  of  inordinate  affec- 


42  A  TOUCH  OF  SUN 

tions  and  unbalanced  enthusiasms.  I  was  to  be 
an  all-around  young  woman ;  so  they  built  a 
wall  all  around  me.  It  fitted  tight  at  last,  and 
then  I  broke  through  one  night  and  emptied 
my  heart  on  the  ground.  My  plea,  you  see,  is 
always  ready.  Could  I  have  lived  and  kept  on 
scorning  myself  as  I  did  that  night  ?  Do  you 
remember  ?  "  She  bent  her  imperative,  clear 
gaze  upon  Thorne.  "  I  told  you  the  truth  when 
you  gave  me  a  chance  to  lie.  Heaven  knows 
what  it  cost  to  say,  '  I  came  with  him  of  my 
own  free  will ! ' 

Mrs.  Thorne  put  her  hand  in  her  husband's. 
He  pressed  it  absently,  with  his  eyes  on  the 
ground. 

"  It  is  such  a  mercy  that  I  need  not  begin 
at  the  beginning.  You  know  the  worst  already, 
and  your  divine  hesitation  before  judgment  al- 
most demands  that  I  should  try  to  justify  it. 
I  may  excuse  myself  to  you.  I  will  not  be  too 
proud  to  meet  you  half-way ;  but  remember, 
when  you  tell  the  story  to  him,  everything  is 
to  be  sacrificed  to  his  cure." 

"  When  we  really  love  them,"  Mrs.  Thorne 
unexpectedly  argued,  "  do  we  want  them  to  be 
cured  ?  " 

The  defendant  looked  at  her  in  astonish- 


A  TOUCH  OF  SUN  43 

ment.  "  Do  I  understand  you  ? "  she  asked. 
"  You  must  be  careful.  I  have  not  told  you 
my  story.  Of  course  I  want  to  influence  you, 
but  nothing  can  alter  the  facts." 

There  was  no  reply,  and  she  took  up  her 
theme  again  with  visible  and  painful  effort. 
A  sickening  familiarity,  a  weariness  of  it  all 
before  she  had  begun,  showed  in  her  voice  and 
in  her  pale,  reluctant  smile. 

"  Seven  years  is  a  long  time,"  she  said,  look- 
ing at  Thorne.  "  Are  you  sure  you  have  for- 
gotten nothing?  You  saw  what  the  man 
was?"  she  demanded.  "He  was  precisely 
what  he  looked  to  be  —  one  of  the  men  about 
the  stables.  I  was  not  supposed  to  know  one 
from  another. 

"  It  is  a  mistake  to  talk  of  a  girl  having 
fallen.  She  has  crawled  down  in  her  thoughts, 
a  step  at  a  time  —  unless  she  fell  in  the  dark ; 
and  I  declare  that  before  this  happened  it  was 
almost  dark  with  me  ! 

"  My  mother  is  a  very  clever  woman  ;  she 
has  had  the  means  to  carry  out  her  theories, 
and  I  am  her  only  child  (Norwood  Benedet  is 
my  half-brother).  I  was  not  allowed  to  play 
with  ordinary  children ;  they  might  have 
spoiled  my  accent  or  told  me  stories  that 


44  A  TOUCH  OF  SUN 

would  have  made  me  afraid  of  the  dark ;  and 
while  the  perfect  child  was  waited  for,  I  had 
only  my  nurses.  I  was  not  allowed  to  go  to 
school,  of  course.  Schools  are  for  ordinary 
children.  When  I  was  past  the  governess  age 
I  had  tutors,  exceptional  beings,  imported  like 
my  frocks.  They  were  too  clever  for  the  work 
of  teaching  one  ignorant,  spoiled  child.  They 
wore  me  out  with  their  dissertations,  their  ex- 
cess of  personality,  their  overflow  of  acquire- 
ments, all  bearing  upon  poor,  stupid  me,  who 
could  absorb  so  little.  And  mama  would  not 
allow  me  to  be  pushed,  so  I  never  actually 
worked  or  played.  These  persons  were  in  the 
house,  holidays  and  all,  and  there  was  a  per- 
petual little  dribble  of  instruction  going  on. 
Oh,  how  I  wearied  of  the  deadly  deliberation 
of  it  all ! 

"  As  a  family  we  have  always  been  in  a 
way  notorious ;  I  am  aware  of  that :  but  my 
mother's  ideals  are  far  different  from  those 
that  held  in  father's  young  days,  when  he 
made  his  money  and  a  highly  ineligible  circle 
of  acquaintances.  Nordy  inherited  all  the  fun 
and  the  friends,  and  he  spent  the  money  like 
a  prince.  Once  or  twice  a  year  he  would  come 
down  to  the  ranch,  and  the  place  would  be 


A  TOUCH  OF  SUN  45 

filled  with  his  company,  and  their  horses  and 
jockeys  and  servants.  Then  mama  would  fly 
with  me  till  the  reign  of  sport  was  over.  It 
was  a  terrible  grief  to  have  to  go  at  the  only 
time  when  the  ranch  was  not  a  prison.  I  grew 
up  nursing  a  crop  of  smothered  rebellions  and 
longings  which  I  was  ashamed  to  confess.  At 
sixteen  mama  was  to  take  me  abroad  for  two 
years ;  I  was  to  be  presented  and  brought 
home  in  triumph,  unless  Europe  refused  to 
part  with  a  pearl  of  such  price.  All  pearls  have 
their  price.  I  was  not  left  in  absolute  igno- 
rance of  my  own.  Of  all  who  suffered  through 
that  night's  madness  of  mine,  poor  mama  is 
most  to  be  pitied.  There  was  no  limit  to  her 
pride  in  me,  and  she  has  never  made  the  least 
pretense  that  religion  or  philosophy  could 
comfort  her. 

"  Now,  before  I  really  begin,  shall  we  not 
speak  of  something  else  for  a  while  ?  I  do  not 
want  to  be  quite  without  mercy." 

"  I  think  you  had  better  go  on,"  said  Mrs. 
Thorne  gently ;  "  but  take  off  your  bonnet, 
my  dear." 

"Still  <my  dear'?"  sighed  the  girl.  "Is 
so  much  kindness  quite  consistent  with  your 
duty?  Will  you  leave  all  the  plain  speaking 
tome?" 


46  A  TOUCH  OF  SUN 

"  Forgive  me,"  said  the  mother  humbly ; 
"  but  I  cannot  call  you  l  Miss  Benedet/  We 
seem  to  have  got  beyond  that." 

"  Oh,  we  have  got  beyond  everything ! 
There  is  no  precedent  for  us  in  the  past  "  — 
she  felt  for  her  hat  pins  —  "  and  no  hope  in 
the  future."  She  put  off  the  winged  circlet 
that  crowned  her  hair,  and  Mrs.  Thorne  took 
it  from  her.  Almost  shyly  the  middle-aged 
woman,  who  had  never  herself  been  even 
pretty,  looked  at  the  sad  young  beauty,  sitting 
uncovered  in  the  moonlight. 

"  You  should  never  wear  anything  on  your 
head.  It  is  desecration." 

"Is  it?  I  always  conform,  you  know.  I 
wear  anything,  do  anything,  that  is  de- 
manded." 

"  Ah,  but  the  head  —  such  hair !  I  wonder 
that  I  do  not  hate  you  when  I  think  of  my 
poor  Willy." 

"  You  will  hate  me  when  I  am  gone,"  said 
the  beautiful  one  wearily ;  "  you  may  count 
on  the  same  revulsion  in  him.  I  know  it.  I 
have  been  through  it.  There  is  nothing  so 
loathsome  in  the  bitter  end  as  mere  good 
looks." 

"  Ah,  but  why  "  —  the  mother  checked  her- 


A  TOUCH  OF  SUN  47 

self.  Was  she  groveling  already  for  Willy's 
sake  ?  She  had  stifled  the  truth,  and  accepted 
thanks  not  her  due,  and  listened  to  praise  of 
her  own  magnanimity.  Where  were  the  night's 
surprises  to  leave  her  ? 


II 

Mr.  Thome  had  changed  his  seat,  and  the 
sound  of  a  fresh  chair  creaking  under  his 
comfortable  weight  was  a  touch  of  common- 
place welcomed  by  his  wife  with  her  usual 
laugh,  half  amused  and  half  apologetic. 

"  Why  do  you  go  off  there,  Henry  ?  Do 
you  expect  us  to  follow  you?" 

"  There 's  a  breeze  around  the  corner  of  the 
house  ! "  he  ejaculated  fervently. 

"  Go  and  find  it,  then ;  we  do  not  need 
you.  Do  we?" 

"  /  need  him,"  said  the  girl  in  her  sweet- 
est tones.  "  He  helped  me  once,  without  a 
word.  It  helps  me  now  to  have  him  sitting 
there  "  — 

"  Without  a  word !  "  Mrs.  Thome  irrepress- 
ibly  supplied. 

"Why  can't  we  let   her  finish?"    Thorne 


48  A  TOUCH  OF  SUN 

demanded,  hitching  his  chair  into  an  attitude 
of  attention. 

It  was  impossible  for  Miss  Benedet  to  take 
up  her  story  in  the  key  in  which  she  had  left 
off.  She  began  again  rather  flatly,  allowing 
for  the  chill  of  interruptions :  — 

"  To  go  back  to  that  summer ;  I  was  in  my 
sixteenth  year,  and  the  policy  of  expansion 
was  to  have  begun.  But  father's  health  broke, 
and  mama  was  traveling  with  him  and  a  cor- 
tege of  nurses,  trying  one  change  after  another. 
It  was  duller  than  ever  at  the  ranch.  We  sat 
down  three  at  table  in  a  dining-room  forty 
feet  long,  Aunt  Isabel  Dwight,  Fraulein  Hen- 
schel,  and  myself.  Fraulein  was  the  resident 
governess.  She  was  a  great,  soft-hearted, 
injudicious  creature,  a  mass  of  German  inter- 
jections, but  she  had  the  grand  style  on  the 
piano.  There  had  been  weeks  of  such  weather 
as  we  are  having  now.  Exercise  was  impos- 
sible till  after  sundown.  I  had  dreamed  of  a 
breath  of  freedom,  but  instead  of  the  open 
door  I  was  in  straiter  bonds  than  ever. 

"  I  revolted  first  against  keeping  hours.  I 
would  not  get  up  to  breakfast,  I  refused  to 
study,  it  was  too  hot  to  practice.  I  took  my 
own  head  about  books,  and  had  my  first  great 


A  TOUCH  OF  SUN  49 

orgy  of  the  Russians.  I  used  to  lie  beside  a 
chink  of  light  in  the  darkened  library  and 
read  while  Fraulein  in  the  music-room  held 
orgies  of  her  own.  She  had  just  missed  being 
a  great  singer ;  but  she  was  a  master  of  her 
instrument,  and  her  accompaniments  were  di- 
vine. What  voice  she  had  was  managed  with 
feeling  and  a  pure  method,  and  where  voice 
failed  her  the  piano  thrilled  and  sobbed,  and 
broke  in  chords  like  the  sea. 

"  I  can  give  you  no  idea  of  the  effect  that 
Tolstoi,  combined  with  Fraulein's  music,  had 
upon  me.  My  heart  hung  upon  the  pauses  in 
her  song ;  it  beat,  as  I  read,  as  if  I  had  been 
running.  I  would  forget  to  breathe  between 
the  pages.  One  day  Fraulein  came  in  and 
found  me  in  the  back  chapters  of  '  Anna 
Karenina.'  She  had  been  playing  one  of  Lizst's 
rhapsodies  —  the  twelfth.  Waves  of  storm 
and  passion  had  been  thundering  through  the 
house,  with  keen  little  rifts  of  melody  between, 
too  sweet  almost  to  be  endured.  She  was  very 
negligee,  as  the  weather  obliged  us  to  be. 
Her  great  white  arms  were  bare  above  the 
elbow,  and  as  wet  as  if  she  had  been  over  the 
wash-tub. 

" '  That  is  not  a  book  for  a  jeune  fille,'  she 
said. 


50  A  TOUCH  OF  SUN 

"  I  was  in  a  rapture  of  excitement ;  the  in- 
terruption made  me  wild.  '  All  the  books  are 
for  me,'  I  told  her.  ( I  will  read  what  I  please/ 

" ( You  will  go  mad ! ' 

"  I  went  on  reading. 

"'You  have  no  way  to  work  it  off.  You 
will  not  study,  you  cannot  sing,  you  write  no 
letters,  the  mother  does  not  believe '  — 

" '  Do  go  away ! '  I  cried. 

" e  —  in  the  duty  to  the  neighbor.  Ach ! 
what  will  you  do  with  the  whole  of  Tolstoi 
and  Turgenieff  shut  up  within  you?' 

"  l  I  can  ride,'  I  said.  '  If  you  don't  want 
me  to  go  mad,  leave  me  in  the  evenings  to 
myself.  Take  my  place  in  the  carriage  with 
Aunt  Isabel,  and  let  me  ride  alone.' 

"  Fraulein  had  lived  in  bonds  herself,  and 
she  had  the  soul  of  an  artist.  She  knew  what 
it  is,  for  days  together,  to  have  barely  an  hour 
to  one's  own  thoughts ;  never  to  step  out 
alone  of  a  summer  night,  after  a  long,  hot, 
feverish  day.  She  let  me  go  with  old  Manuel, 
the  head  groom,  as  my  escort.  He  was  no 
more  hindrance  to  solitude  than  a  pine-tree  or 
a  post. 

"The  reading  and  the  music  and  the  heat 
went  on.  I  was  in  a  fever  of  emotion  such 


A  TOUCH  OF  SUN  51 

as  I  had  never  known.  Fraulein  perceived  it. 
She  recommended  '  My  Religion  '  as  an  anti- 
dote to  the  romances.  I  did  not  want  his 
religion.  I  wanted  his  men  and  women,  his 
reading  of  the  human  soul,  the  largeness  of 
incident,  the  sense  of  time  and  space,  the 
intricacy  of  family  life,  the  problems  of  race, 
the  march  of  nations  across  the  great  world- 
canvas. 

"  I  rode  —  not  alone,  but  with  the  high- 
strung  beings  that  lived  between  the  pages  of 
my  books :  men  and  women  who  knew  no 
curb,  who  stopped  at  nothing,  and  who  paid 
the  price  of  their  passionate  mistakes.  Old 
Manuel,  standing  by  the  horses,  looked  strange 
to  me.  I  spoke  to  him  dramatically,  as  the 
women  I  read  of  would  have  spoken.  Nothing 
could  have  added  to  or  detracted  from  his 
own  manner.  He  was  of  the  old  Spanish 
stock,  but  for  the  first  time  I  saw  his  pic- 
turesqueness.  I  liked  him  to  call  me  'the 
Nina,'  and  address  me  in  the  third  person  with 
his  eyes  upon  the  ground. 

"  All  this  was  preparatory.  It  is  part  of  my 
defense ;  but  do  not  forget  the  heat,  the  im- 
prisonment, the  sense  of  relief  when  the  sun 
went  down,  the  wild,  bounding  rapture  of 
those  night  rides. 


52  A  TOUCH  OF  SUN 

"  One  evening  it  was  not  Manuel  who  stood 
by  the  horses  in  the  white  track  between  the 
laurels.  It  was  a  figure  as  statuesque  as  his, 
but  younger,  and  the  pose  was  not  that  of  a 
servant.  It  was  the  stand-at-ease  of  a  soldier, 
or  of  an  Indian  wrapped  in  his  blanket  in  the 
city  square.  This  man  was  conscious  of  being 
looked  at,  but  his  training,  of  whatever  sort, 
would  not  permit  him  to  show  it.  Plainly  the 
training  had  not  been  that  of  a  groom.  I  was 
obliged  to  send  him  to  the  stables  for  his 
coat,  and  remind  him  that  his  place  was  be- 
hind. He  took  the  hint  good-humoredly,  with 
the  nonchalance  of  a  big  boy  condescending 
to  be  taught  the  rules  of  some  childish  game. 
As  we  were  riding  through  the  woods  later,  I 
caught  the  scent  of  tobacco.  It  was  my  groom 
smoking.  I  told  him  he  could  not  smoke  and 
ride  with  me.  He  threw  away  his  cigarette 
and  straightened  himself  in  the  saddle  with 
such  a  smile  as  he  might  have  bestowed  on 
the  whims  of  a  child.  He  obeyed  me  exactly 
in  everything,  with  an  exaggerated  ironical 
precision,  and  seemed  to  find  amusement  in 
it.  I  questioned  him  about  Manuel.  He  had 
gone  to  one  of  the  lower  ranches,  would  not 
be  back  for  weeks.  By  whose  orders  was  he 


A  TOUCH  OF  SUN  53 

attending  me?  By  Manuel's,  he  said.  He 
must  then  have  had  qualifications. 

" t  What  is  one  to  call  you  ? '    I  asked  him. 

"  He  hesitated  an  instant.  '  Jim  is  what  I 
answer  to  around  here/  said  he. 

"  '  What  is  your  name  ? '  I  repeated. 

"  '  The  lady  can  call  me  anything  she  likes/ 
— he  spoke  in  a  low,  lazy  voice,  — '  but  Dick 
Malaby  is  my  name.' 

"We  have  better  heroes  now  than  the 
Cheyenne  cowboys,  but  I  felt  as  a  girl  to- 
day would  feel  if  she  discovered  she  had  been 
telling  one  of  the  men  of  the  Merrimac  to 
ride  behind ! " 

"  They  would  not  need  to  be  told,"  Mrs. 
Thome  interjected. 

"  No,  that  is  the  difference ;  but  discipline 
did  not  appeal  to  me  then ;  recklessness  did. 
Every  man  on  the  place  had  taken  sides  on 
the  Wyoming  question ;  feeling  ran  high. 
Some  of  them  had  friends  and  relatives  among 
the  victims.  Yet  this  man  in  hiding  had  tossed 
me  his  name  to  play  with,  not  even  asking  for 
my  silence,  though  it  was  the  price  of  his  life, 
and  all  in  a  light-hearted  contempt  for  the 
curious  ways  of  the  '  tony  set/  as  he  would 
have  called  us. 


54  A  TOUCH  OF  SUN 

"  I  signed  to  him  one  evening  to  ride  up. 
'  I  want  you  to  talk  to  me/  I  said.  i  Tell  me 
about  the  cattle  war.' 

" l  Miss  Benedet  forgets  —  my  place  is  be- 
hind/ He  touched  his  hat  and  fell  back  again. 
Lesson  for  lesson  —  we  were  quits.  I  made  no 
further  attempt  to  corrupt  my  own  pupil. 

"  We  rode  in  silence  after  that,  but  I  was 
never  without  the  sense  of  his  ironical  pres- 
ence. I  was  conscious  of  showing  off  be- 
fore him.  I  wished  him  to  see  that  I  could 
ride.  Fences  and  ditches,  rough  or  smooth,  he 
never  interfered  with  my  wildest  pace.  I  could 
not  extract  from  him  a  look  of  surprise,  far 
less  the  admiration  that  I  wanted.  What  was 
a  girl's  riding  to  him  ?  He  knew  a  pace  —  all 
the  paces  —  that  I  could  never  follow.  I  felt 
the  absurdity  of  our  mutual  position,  its  utter 
artificiality,  and  how  it  must  strike  him. 

"  In  the  absence  of  words  between  us,  ex- 
ternals spoke  with  greater  force.  He  had  the 
Greek  line  of  head  and  throat,  and  he  sat  his 
horse  with  a  dare-devil  repose.  The  eloquence 
of  his  mute  attitudes,  his  physical  mastery  of 
the  conditions,  his  strength  repressed,  tied  to 
my  silly  freaks  and  subject  to  my  commands, 
while  his  thoughts  roamed  free !  That  was 


A  TOUCH  OF  SUN  55 

the  beginning.  It  lasted  through  a  week  of 
starlight  and  a  week  of  moonlight — lyric 
nights  with  the  hot,  close  days  between ;  and 
each  night  an  increasing  interest  attached  to 
the  moment  when  he  was  to  put  me  on  my 
horse.  I  make  no  apology  for  myself  after  that. 

"  One  evening  we  approached  a  gate  at  the 
farther  end  of  our  longest  course,  and  the  gate 
stood  open.  He  rode  on  to  close  it.  I  stopped 
him.  '  I  am  going  out,'  I  said.  It  was  a  reso- 
lution taken  that  moment.  He  held  up  his 
watch  to  the  light,  which  made  me  angry. 

" '  Go  back  to  the  stables/  I  said,  *  if  you  are 
due  there.  /  don't  want  to  know  the  time.' 

"  He  brought  his  horse  alongside.  ( Where 
is  Miss  Benedet  going,  please  ? ' 

" '  Anywhere,'  I  said,  '  where  it  will  be  cool 
in  the  morning.' 

"  '  Miss  Benedet  will  have  a  long  ride.  Does 
she  wish  for  company  ? ' 

"  I  did  not  answer.  Something  drove  me 
forward,  though  I  was  afraid. 

" '  Outside  that  gate,'  he  went  on  quietly, 
'  /  shall  set  the  pace,  and  I  do  not  ride  be- 
hind.' Still  I  did  not  answer.  'Is  that  the 
understanding  ? ' 

"  '  Ride  where  you  please,'  I  said. 


56  A  TOUCH  OF  SUN 

"  After  that  he  took  command,  not  roughly 
or  familiarly,  but  he  no  longer  used  the  third 
person,  as  I  had  instructed  him,  in  speaking  to 
me.  The  first  time  he  said  '  you '  it  sent  the 
blood  to  my  face.  We  were  far  up  the  moun- 
tain then,  and  morning  was  upon  us. 

"  I  wish  to  be  definite  here.  From  the  mo- 
ment I  saw  him  plainly  face  to  face  the  illu- 
sion was  gone.  Before,  I  had  seen  him  by  every 
light  but  daylight,  and  generally  in  profile. 
The  profile  is  not  the  man.  It  is  the  plan  in 
outline,  but  the  eyes,  the  mouth,  tell  what  he 
has  made  of  himself.  So  attitude  is  not  speech. 
As  a  shape  in  the  moonlight  he  had  been  elo- 
quent, but  once  at  my  side,  talking  with  me 
naturally  —  I  need  not  go  on  !  From  that  mo- 
ment our  journey  was  to  me  a  dream  of  horror, 
a  series  of  frantic  plans  for  escape. 

"  All  fugitives  on  the  coast  must  put  to  sea. 
The  Oakland  ferry  would  have  answered  my 
purpose.  I  would  never  have  been  seen  with 
him  in  the  city  —  alive. 

"  But  at  Colfax  we  met  your  husband.  He 
knows  —  you  know  —  the  rest." 

In  thinking  of  the  one  who  had  first  pitied 
her,  pity  for  herself  overcame  her,  and  the 
proud  penitent  broke  down. 


A  TOUCH  OF  SUN  57 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Thorne  sat  in  the  shy  silence 
of  older  persons  who  are  past  the  age  of  de- 
monstrative sympathy.  The  girl  rose,  and  as 
she  passed  her  hostess  she  put  out  her  hand. 
Mrs.  Thorne  took  it  quickly  and  followed  her. 
They  found  a  seat  by  themselves  in  a  dark 
corner  of  the  porch. 

"  Your  poor,  good  husband  —  how  tired  he 
is !  How  patiently  you  have  listened,  and  what 
does  it  all  come  to  ?  " 

"  Think  of  yourself,  not  of  us,"  said  Mrs. 
Thorne. 

"  Oh,  it 's  all  over  for  me.  I  have  had  my 
fight.  But  you  have  him  to  grieve  for." 

"  Shall  you  not  grieve  for  him  yourself  a 
little?" 

The  girl  sat  up  quickly. 

"  If  you  mean  do  I  give  him  up  without  a 
struggle  —  I  do  not.  But  you  need  not  say 
that  to  him.  I  told  him  that  it  was  all  a  mis- 
take ;  I  did  not  —  do  not  love  him." 

"  How  could  you  say  that "  — 

"  It  was  necessary.  Without  that  I  should 
have  been  leaving  it  to  his  generosity.  Now  it 
remains  only  to  show  him  how  little  he  has 
lost." 

"  But  could  you  not  have  done  that  without 


58  A  TOUCH  OF  SUN 

belying  yourself  ?  You  do  —  surely  you  still 
care  for  him  a  little  ?  " 

"  Insatiate  mother !  Is  there  any  other  proof 
I  can  give  ?  " 

"  Your  hand  is  icy  cold." 

"  And  my  face  is  burning  hot.  Good-night. 
May  I  say,  'Now  let  thy  servant  depart  in 
peace'?" 

"I  shall  not  know  how  to  let  you  go  to- 
morrow, and  I  do  not  see,  myself,  why  you 
should  go." 

"  You  will  —  after  I  am  gone." 

"  My  dear,  are  you  crying  ?  I  cannot  see 
you.  How  cruel  we  have  been,  to  sit  and  let 
you  turn  your  life  out  for  our  inspection  !  " 

"  It  was  a  free  exhibition  !  No  one  asked 
me,  and  I  did  not  even  come  prepared,  more 
than  seven  years'  study  of  my  own  case  has 
prepared  me. 

"  I  was  a  child ;  but  the  fault  was  mine.  I 
should  have  been  allowed  to  suffer  for  it  in  the 
natural  way.  No  good  ever  comes  of  skulking. 
But  they  hurried  me  off  to  Europe,  and  began 
a  cowardly  system  of  concealment.  They  made 
me  almost  forget  my  own  misconduct  in  shame 
for  the  things  they  did  by  way  of  covering  it 
up.  My  mother  never  took  me  in  her  arms  and 


A  TOUCH  OF  SUN  59 

cried  over  my  disgrace.  She  would  not  speak 
of  it,  or  allow  me  to  speak.  Not  a  word  nor  an 
admission  ;  the  thing  must  be  as  though  it  had 
never  been ! 

"  They  ruined  Dick  Malaby  with  their  hush- 
money.  They  might  better  have  shot  him,  but 
that  would  have  made  talk.  My  father  died 
with  only  servants  around  him.  Mama  could 
not  go  to  him.  She  was  too  busy  covering  my 
retreat.  Oh,  she  kept  a  gallant  front !  I  ad- 
mired her,  I  pitied  her,  but  I  loathed  her  pol- 
icy. Does  not  every  girl  know  when  she  has 
been  dedicated  to  the  great  god  Success,  and 
what  the  end  of  success  must  be  ? 

"  I  told  mama  at  last  that  if  she  would  bring 
men  to  propose  to  me  I  should  teU  them  the 
truth.  Does  Lord  So-and-so  wish  to  marry  a 
girl  who  ran  away  with  her  father's  groom  ? 
That  was  the  breach  between  us.  She  has 
thrown  herself  into  it.  She  is  going  to  marry 
a  title  herself,  not  to  let  it  go  out  of  the  fam- 
ily. Have  you  not  heard  of  the  engagement  ? 
She  is  to  be  a  countess,  and  the  property  is 
controlled  by  her,  so  now  I  have  an  excuse  for 
doing  something." 

"  My  dear !  "  Mrs.  Thome  took  the  girl's 
cold  hands  in  hers.  "  Do  you  mean  that  you 
are  not  your  father's  heiress  ?  " 


60  A  TOUCH  OF  SUN 

"  Only  by  mama's  last  will  and  testament. 
We  know  what  that  would  be  if  she  made  it 
now !  " 

"  It  was  then  you  came  home  ?  " 

"  It  was  then,  when  I  learned  that  one  of 
my  rejected  suitors  was  to  become  my  father. 
He  might  be  my  grandfather.  But  let  us  not 
be  vulgar ! " 

"  Are  n't  you  girls  going  to  bed  to-night  ?  " 
Mr.  Thome  inquired,  with  his  usual  leaning 
toward  peace  and  quietness.  "  You  can't  settle 
everything  at  one  sitting." 

"  Everything  is  settled,  Mr.  Thome,  and  I 
am  going  to  bed,"  said  Miss  Benedet. 

Mrs.  Thorne  did  not  release  her  hands.  "  I 
want  to  ask  you  one  more  question." 

"  I  know  exactly  what  it  is,  and  I  will  tell 
you  to-morrow." 

"  Tell  me  now ;  it  is  perfectly  useless  going 
to  your  room ;  the  temperature  over  your  bed 
is  ninety-nine." 

"  The  question,  then  !  Why  did  I  allow 
your  son  to  commit  himself  in  ignorance  ?  " 

" No,  no!"  Mrs.  Thorne  protested. 

"  Yes,  yes !  You  have  asked  that  question, 
you  must  have.  You  are  an  angel,  but  you  are 
a  mother,  too." 


A  TOUCH  OF  SUN  61 

"  I  have  asked  no  questions  since  you  began 
to  tell  your  story ;  but  I  have  wondered  how 
Willy  could  have  found  courage,  in  one  week, 
to  offer  himself  to  such  gifts  and  possessions 
as  yours." 

"  A  mother,  and  a  worldly  mother !  "  Miss 
Benedet  apostrophized.  "  I  did  not  look  for 
such  considerations  from  you.  And  you  are 
troubled  for  the  modesty  of  your  son  ?  " 

"  My  dear,  he  has  nothing,  and  he  is  —  of 
course  we  think  him  everything  he  should  be 
—  but  he  is  not  a  handsome  boy." 

"  Thank  Heaven  he  is  not." 

"  And  he  does  not  talk  "  — 

"About  himself.    No." 

"  Ah,  you  do  care  for  him  !  You  understand 
him.  You  would  "  — 

Miss  Benedet  rose  to  her  feet  with  decision. 

"  You  have  not  answered  my  question,"  the 
unconscionable  mother  pursued.  "  Does  he 
know —  is  it  known  that  you  are  not  the  great 
heiress  your  name  would  imply  ?  " 

"  Everything  is  known,"  said  the  girl.  "  You 
do  not  read  your  society  column,  I  see.  Six 
weeks  ago  you  might  have  learned  the  fate  of 
my  father's  millions." 

She  stood  by  the  balustrade  and  leaned  out 


62  A  TOUCH  OF  SUN 

under  the  stars,  taking  a  deep  breath  of  the 
night's  growing  coolness.  A  rose-spray  touched 
her  face.  She  put  it  back,  and  a  shower  of 
dry,  scented  petals  fell  upon  her  breast  and 
sleeve. 

"  There  is  always  one  point  in  every  true 
story,"  she  said  in  a  tired  voice,  "  where  ex- 
planations cease  to  explain.  The  mysteries 
claim  their  share  in  us,  deny  them  as  we  will. 
I  don't  know  why  it  was,  but  from  the  time 
I  threw  off  all  that  bondage  to  society  and 
struck  out  for  myself,  I  felt  made  over.  Life 
began  again  with  life's  realities.  I  came  home 
to  earn  my  bread,  and  on  that  footing  I  felt 
sane  and  clean  and  honest.  The  question  be- 
came not  what  I  am  or  was,  but  what  could  I 
do  ?  I  discussed  the  question  with  your  son." 

"  You  discussed  ! " 

"  We  did,  indeed.  We  went  over  the  whole 
field.  East  and  west  we  tested  my  accom- 
plishments by  the  standards  of  those  who  want 
teachers  for  their  children.  I  have  gone  rather 
further  in  music  than  anything  else.  Even 
Fraulein  would  hardly  say  now  I  lacked  an 
outlet.  I  was  working  things  off  one  evening 
on  the  piano  —  many  things  beyond  the  power 
of  speech  —  the  help  of  prayer,  I  might  say. 


A  TOUCH  OF  SUN  63 

There  were  whispers  about  me  already  in  the 
house." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  People  talking  —  my  mother's  old  friends. 
It  was  rather  serious,  as  I  had  been  thinking 
of  their  daughters  for  pupils.  I  thought  I  was 
alone,  but  your  son  —  the  '  boy '  as  you  call 
him  —  was  listening.  He  came  and  stood  be- 
side me.  For  a  person  who  does  not  talk, 
he  can  make  himself  quite  well  understood.  I 
tried  to  go  on  playing.  My  blinded  eyes,  the 
wrong  notes,  told  him  all.  I  lay  and  thought 
all  night,  and  asked  myself,  why  might  I  not 
be  happy  and  give  happiness,  like  other  women 
of  my  age.  I  denied  to  my  conscience  that  I 
was  bound  to  tell  him,  since  I  was  not,  never 
had  been,  what  that  story  in  words  would  re- 
port me.  Why  should  I  affect  a  lie  in  order 
literally,  vainly  to  be  honest  ?  So  a  day  passed, 
and  another  sleepless  night.  And  now  I  had 
his  image  of  me  to  battle  with.  Then  it  be- 
came impossible,  and  yet  more  necessary,  and 
each  day's  silence  buried  me  deeper  beyond 
the  hope  of  speech.  So  I  gave  it  up.  Why 
should  he  have  in  his  wife  less  than  I  would 
ask  for  in  my  husband  ?  I  want  none  of  your 
experienced  men.  Such  a  record  as  his,  such 


64  A  TOUCH  OF  SUN 

a  look  in  the  eyes,  the  expression  unawares  of 
a  lif e  of  sustained  effort  —  always  in  one  direc- 
tion "  — 

A  white  arm  in  a  black  sleeve  pointed  up- 
ward in  silence. 

"  And  you  would  rob  him  of  his  reward  ?  " 
said  the  mother,  in  a  choked  voice. 

"  Mrs.  Thorne  !  Do  you  not  understand  me  ? 
I  am  not  talking  for  effect.  But  this  is  what 
happens  if  one  begins  to  explain.  I  did  not 
come  here  to  talk  to  you  for  the  rest  of  my 
life !  It  was  your  sweetness  that  undid  me.  I 
will  never  again  say  what  I  think  of  parents 
in  general." 

"Maggie,  do  you  know  what  time  it  is?" 
a  suppressed  voice  issued  an  hour  later  from 
that  part  of  the  house  supposed  to  be  dedicated 
to  sleep.  "  Are  you  going  to  sit  up  till  morn- 
ing?" 

"I  am  looking  for  my  letter,"  came  the 
answer,  in  a  tragic  whisper. 

"What  letter?" 

"  My  letter  to  Willy,  that  you  would  n't  let 
me  read  to  you  last  night." 

"  You  don't  want  to  read  it  to  me  now,  do 
you?" 


A  TOUCH  OF  SUN  65 

There  was  no  reply.  A  careful  step  kept 
moving  about  the  inner  rooms,  newspapers 
rustled,  and  small  objects  were  lifted  and  set 
down. 

"  Maggie,  do  come  to  bed  !  You  can't  mail 
your  letter  to-night." 

"  I  don't  want  to  mail  it.  I  want  to  burn 
it.  I  will  not  have  it  on  my  conscience  a  mo- 
ment longer  "  — 

"  I  wish  you  'd  have  me  on  your  conscience  ! 
It 's  after  one  o'clock."  The  voices  were  close 
together  now,  only  an  open  door  between  the 
speakers. 

"  Won't  you  put  something  on  and  come 
out  here,  Henry  ?  There  is  a  light  in  Ito's 
house.  I  suppose  you  would  n't  let  me  go  out 
and  ask  him  ?  " 

"  I  suppose  not !  " 

"  Then  won't  you  go  and  ask  if  he  saw  a 
letter  on  my  desk,  sealed  and  addressed  ?  " 

Mr.  Thorne  sat  up  in  bed  disgustedly. 
"  What  is  Ito  doing  with  a  light  this  time  of 
night?" 

"  Hush,  dear ;  don't  speak  so  loud.  He  's 
studying.  He 's  preparing  himself  to  go  into 
the  Japanese  navy." 

"  He  is,  is  he  !   And  that 's  why  he  can't 


66  A  TOUCH  OF  SUN 

get  us  our  breakfast  before  half-past  eight. 
I  '11  see  about  that  light ! " 

"The  letter,  the  letter!"  Mrs.  Thome 
prompted  in  a  ghostly  whisper.  "  Ask  him  if 
he  saw  it  on  my  desk  —  a  square  blue  envelope, 
thin  paper." 

The  studious  little  cook  was  seated  by  a  hot 
kerosene-lamp,  at  a  table  covered  with  picture- 
papers,  soft  Japanese  books,  and  writing- 
materials.  He  was  in  his  stocking-feet  and 
shirt-sleeves,  and  his  mental  efforts  appeared 
to  have  had  a  confusing  effect  on  his  usually 
sleek  black  hair,  which  stood  all  ways  dis- 
tractedly, while  his  sleepy  eyes  blinked  under 
Mr.  Thome's  brusque  examination. 

"I  care  fo'  everything,"  he  repeated, 
eliminating  the  consonants  as  he  slid  along. 
"  Missa  Tho'ne  letta  —  all  a-ready  f o'  mail  — 
I  putta  pos'age-stamp,  gifa  to  shif'-boss.  I 
think  Sa'  F'a'cisco  in  a  mo'ning.  I  care  fo' 
everything ! " 

"  Ito  cares  for  everything,"  Mr.  Thome 
quoted,  in  answer  to  his  wife's  haggard  in- 
quiries. "  He  stamped  your  letter  and  sent 
it  to  town  yesterday  by  one  of  the  day-shift 
men." 

"  Now  what  shall  be  done ! "  Mrs.  Thorne 
exclaimed  tragically. 


A  TOUCH  OF  SUN  67 

"  I  know  what  /  shall  do  !  "  Mr.  Thome 
wrapped  his  toga  around  him  with  an  air  of 
duty  done.  But  a  husband  cannot  escape  so 
easily  as  that.  His  ministering  angel  sat  beside 
his  bed  for  half  an  hour  longer,  brooding 
aloud  over  the  day's  disaster,  with  a  rigid  eye 
upon  the  question  of  personal  accountability. 

"  If  you  had  not  stopped  me,  Henry,  when 
I  tried  to  confess  about  my  letter !  There 's 
no  time  for  the  truth  like  the  present." 

"  My  dear,  when  a  person  is  telling  a  story 
you  don't  want  to  interrupt  with  quibbles  of 
conscience  ;  if  it  made  it  any  easier  for  her  to 
think  us  a  little  better  than  we  are,  why  rob 
her  of  the  delusion?" 

"  I  shall  have  to  rob  her  of  it  to-morrow. 
To  think  of  my  sitting  there,  a  whited  sepul- 
chre, and  being  called  generous  and  forbearing 
and  merciful,  with  that  letter  lying  on  my 
desk  all  the  time  ! " 

"  It  would  be  lying  there  still  except  for  an 
accident.  She  will  see  how  you  feel  about  it. 
Give  her  something  to  forgive  in  you.  Depend 
upon  it,  she  '11  rise  to  the  occasion." 

As  the  mother  passed  her  guest's  room  next 
morning  she  paused  and  looked  remorsefully 
at  the  closed  door. 


68  A  TOUCH  OF  SUN 

"  I  ought  to  have  told  her  that  we  never 
shut  our  doors.  She  must  be  smothered.  I 
wonder  if  she  can  be  asleep." 

Mr.  Thorne  went  on  into  the  dining-room. 
Mrs.  Thorne  knocked,  in  a  whisper  as  it  were. 
There  was  no  answer.  She  softly  unlatched 
the  door,  and  a  draft  of  air  crept  through,  wid- 
ening it  with  a  prolonged  and  wistful  creak. 
The  sleeper  did  not  stir.  She  had  changed 
her  pillows  to  the  foot  of  the  bed,  and  was 
lying  in  the  full  light,  with  her  window-cur- 
tains drawn.  In  all  the  room  there  was  an  air 
of  abandonment,  an  exhausted  memory  of  the 
night's  despairing  heat.  Mrs.  Thorne  stepped 
across  the  matting,  and  noiselessly  bowed  the 
shutters.  A  dash  of  spray  from  the  lawn- 
sprinkler  was  spattering  the  sill,  threatening 
to  dampen  a  pile  of  dainty  clothing  laid  upon 
a  chair.  She  moved  the  chair,  looked  once 
more  at  the  lovely  dark-lashed  sleeper,  and 
left  her  again  in  peace. 

Beside  her  plate  at  the  breakfast-table  there 
was  a  great  heap  of  roses,  gathered  that  morn- 
ing, her  husband's  usual  greeting.  She  praised 
them  as  she  always  did,  and  then  began  to 
finger  them  over,  choosing  the  finest  to  save 
for  her  guest.  Rare  as  they  were  in  kind, 


A  TOUCH  OF  SUN  69 

and  opened  that  morning,  there  was  not  a 
perfect  rose  among  them.  Each  one  showed 
the  touch  of  blight  in  bloom.  Every  petal, 
just  unclosed  and  dewy  at  the  core,  was  curled 
along  the  edges,  scorched  in  the  bud.  It  was 
not  mildew  or  canker  or  disease,  only  "  a  touch 
of  sun." 

"I  won't  give  them  to  her,"  said  the 
mother  ;  "  they  are  too  like  herself." 

She  saw  her  husband  go  forth  into  the  heat 
again,  and  blamed  herself,  according  to  her 
wont  of  a  morning  after  the  night's  mistakes, 
for  robbing  him  of  his  rest  and  heaping  her 
self-imposed  burdens  upon  him.  He  laughed 
at  the  remorse  tenderly,  and  brushed  away 
the  burdens,  and  faced  the  day's  actualities 
with  the  not  too  fine  remark,  "  I  must  go  and 
see  what 's  loose  outside." 

Everything  was  "  loose"  apparently.  Some- 
thing about  a  "  hoist "  had  broken  in  the 
night,  and  the  men  were  still  at  work  without 
breakfast,  an  eighteen-hour  shift.  The  order 
came  for  Ito  to  send  out  coffee  and  bread  and 
fruit  to  the  famished  gang.  Ito  was  in  the 
lowest  of  spirits  ;  had  just  given  his  mistress 
warning  that  he  could  not  stay.  The  affair  of 
the  letter  had  wounded  his  susceptibilities  ;  he 


70  A  TOUCH  OF  SUN 

must  go  where  he  would  be  better  understood. 
All  this  in  a  soft,  respectful  undertone,  his  mis- 
tress trying  to  comfort  him,  and  incidentally 
hasten  his  response  to  the  requisition  from 
outside.  At  eleven  o'clock  Mr.  Thome  sent 
in  a  pencil  message  on  a  card :  "  I  shall  not 
be  home  to  lunch.  Does  she  want  to  get  the 
12:30  train?"  Mrs.  Thome  replied  in  the 
same  manner,  by  bearer :  "  She  did,  but  she  is 
asleep.  I  don't  like  to  wake  her." 

The  darkened  house  preserved  its  silence,  a 
restless  endurance  of  the  growing  heat.  Mrs. 
Thome,  in  the  thinnest  of  morning  gowns, 
her  damp  hair  brushed  back  from  her  powdered 
temples,  sat  alone  at  luncheon.  Ito  had  put  a 
melancholy  perfection  into  his  last  salad.  It 
was  his  valedictory. 

She  was  about  to  rise  when  Miss  Benedet 
came  silently  into  the  room  with  her  long, 
even  step.  Her  dark  eyes  were  full  of  sleep. 
Mrs.  Thorne  rang,  and  began  to  fuss  a  little 
over  her  guest  to  cover  the  shyness  each  felt 
at  the  beginning  of  a  new  day.  They  had 
parted  at  too  high  a  pitch  of  expression  to 
meet  again  in  the  same  emotional  key. 

Miss  Benedet  looked  at  the  clock,  lifting 
her  eyebrows  wearily.  "  I  have  lost  my  train," 


A  TOUCH  OF  SUN  71 

she  remarked,  but  added  no  reproaches.  "  Is 
there  an  evening  train  to  the  city  ?  " 

"Not  from  here,"  Mrs.  Thorne  replied; 
"  but  we  could  send  you  over  to  Colfax  to 
catch  the  night  train  from  there.  I  hoped  we 
could  have  you  another  day." 

"That  would  be  impossible,"  said  Miss 
Benedet ;  "  but  I  shall  be  giving  you  a  great 
deal  of  trouble." 

"  Oh,  no ;  it  is  only  ten  miles.  Mr.  Thorne 
will  take  you ;  we  will  both  take  you.  It  is 
a  beautiful  drive  by  moonlight  through  the 
woods.  Was  I  wrong  not  to  call  you  ?  " 

"  If  you  were,  you  will  be  punished  by  hav- 
ing me  on  your  hands  this  long,  hot  afternoon. 
I  ought  to  have  gone  last  night.  When  one  has 
parted  with  the  very  last  bit  of  one's  self,  one 
should  make  haste  to  remove  the  shell." 

"  Then  you  would  have  left  me  with  some- 
thing remaining  on  my  mind,  something  I 
must  get  rid  of  at  once.  Come,  let  us  go 
where  we  cannot  see  each  other's  faces.  I  am 
deeply  in  the  wrong  concerning  you." 

Mrs.  Thorne  went  on  incriminating  herself 
so  darkly  in  her  preface  that  when  she  came 
to  the  actual  offense  her  confessor  smiled.  "  I 
am  so  relieved ! "  she  exclaimed.  "  This  is 


72  A  TOUCH  OF  SUN 

much  more  like  real  life.  I  felt  you  must  be 
keeping  something  back,  or,  if  not,  I  could 
never  live  up  to  such  a  pitch  of  generosity. 
I  am  glad  you  did  not  reach  it  all  at  once." 

"But  what  becomes  of  the  truth  —  the 
story  as  it  should  have  been  told  to  Willy? 
Oh,  I  have  sinned,  for  want  of  patience,  of 
faith  —  not  against  you,  dear,  but  my  son !  " 

After  a  silence  Miss  Benedet  said,  "  Now 
for  the  heart  of  my  own  weakness.  Suppose 
that  I  did  have  a  hope.  Suppose  that  I  had 
laid  the  responsibility  upon  you,  the  parents, 
hoping  that  you  would  decide  for  happiness, 
mere  happiness,  without  question  of  desert  or 
blame.  And  suppose  you  had  defended  me  to 
him.  Would  that  have  been  best  ?  Where 
then  would  be  his  cure  ?  Now  let  us  put  away 
all  cowardice,  for  him  as  well  as  for  ourselves. 
Happiness  for  him  could  have  but  one  foun- 
dation. You  have  told  him  the  facts;  if  he 
cannot  bear  them  as  ah1  the  world  knows  them, 
that  is  his  cure.  I  thank  you.  You  knew 
where  to  put  the  knife." 

"  Oh,  but  this  is  cruel !  "  said  the  mother. 
11 1  don't  want  to  be  your  judge.  You  have 
had  your  punishment,  and  you  took  it  like  a 
queen.  Now  let  us  think  of  Willy !  " 


A  TOUCH  OF  SUN  73 

"  Please  !  "  said  the  girl.  "  I  cannot  talk  of 
this  any  more.  We  must  stop  sometime." 

The  time  of  twilight  came;  the  gasping 
house  flung  open  doors  and  windows  to  the 
night.  Mr.  Thorne  pursued  his  evening  walk 
alone  among  the  fruits  and  vegetables,  count- 
ing his  egg-plants,  and  marking  the  track 
of  gophers  in  his  rows  of  artichokes.  The 
women  were  strolling  toward  the  hill.  Miss 
Benedet  had  put  on  a  cloth  skirt  and  stiff 
shirt-waist  for  her  journey,  and  suffered  from 
the  change,  but  did  not  show  it.  Her  beauty 
was  not  of  the  florid  or  melting  order.  Mrs. 
Thorne  regarded  her  inconsolably,  noting 
with  distinct  and  separate  pangs  each  item  of 
her  loveliness,  as  she  moved  serene  and  pale 
against  the  dark,  resonant  green  of  the  pines. 
They  followed  a  foot-path  back  among  the 
trees  to  a  small  gate  or  door  in  the  high 
boundary  fence.  Mrs.  Thorne  tried  it  to  see 
if  it  were  locked. 

"  Willy  used  to  live,  almost,  on  this  hill 
when  he  came  out  for  his  vacations."  She 
spoke  dreamily,  as  if  thinking  aloud.  "  He 
slept  in  that  tent.  It  looks  like  a  little  ghost 
to  me  these  nights  in  the  moonlight,  the 
curtains  flap  in  such  a  lonely  way.  That  gate 


74  A  TOUCH  OF  SUN 

was  his  back  door  through  the  woods  to  town. 
His  wheel  used  to  lean  against  this  tree.  I 
miss  his  fair  head  in  the  sun,  and  his  white 
trousers  springing  up  the  hill.  But  one  can- 
not keep  one's  boy  forever.  You  have  made 
him  a  man,  my  dear." 

The  mother  put  out  her  hand  timidly.  She 
had  ventured  on  forbidden  ground  once  more. 
But  she  was  not  rebuffed.  The  girl's  hand 
clasped  hers  and  drew  it  around  a  slender 
waist,  and  they  walked  like  two  school  friends 
together. 

"  I  cannot  support  the  idea  that  you  will 
never  come  again,"  mourned  the  elder.  "It 
is  years  since  I  have  known  a  girl  like  you 
—  a  girl  who  can  say  things.  I  can  make  no 
headway  with  girls  in  general.  They  are  so 
big  and  silent  and  athletic.  They  wear  pins 
and  badges,  and  belong  to  more  things  than 
I  have  ever  heard  of  ! " 

Miss  Benedet  laughed.  "  I  am  silent,  too, 
sometimes,"  she  said. 

"  But  you  are  not  dense  !  " 

"  I  'm  afraid  you  go  very  much  to  extremes 
in  your  likes  and  dislikes,  dear  lady,  and  you 
are  much  younger  than  I,  you  know." 

"  I  am  quite  aware   of   that,"    said   Mrs. 


A  TOUCH  OF  SUN  75 

Thome.  "  You  have  had  seven  years  of  Eu- 
rope to  my  twenty  of  Cathay." 

"  Dear  Cathay  !  "  the  girl  murmured,  with 
moist  eyes ;  "  I  could  live  in  this  place  for- 
ever." 

"  Where  have  you  lived  ?  Tell  me  in  how 
many  cities  of  the  world." 

"  Oh,  we  never  lived.  We  stayed  in  places 
for  one  reason  or  another.  We  were  two  years 
in  Vienna.  I  worked  there.  I  was  a  pupil  of 
Leschetizky." 

"What!" 

"  Did  I  not  tell  you  ?   I  can  play  a  little." 

"  A  little !  What  does  that  exactly 
mean  ?  " 

"It  means  too  much  for  drawing-room 
music,  and  not  enough  for  the  stage." 

"  You  are  not  thinking  of  that,  are  you  ?  " 

"  Why  that  voice  of  scorn  ?  Have  I  hit 
upon  one  of  your  prejudices  ?  " 

"  I  am  dreadfully  old-fashioned  about  some 
things — publicity,  for  instance." 

"  It  depends  upon  the  kind,  does  n't  it  ? 
But  you  will  never  hear  of  me  on  the  concert 
stage.  Leschetizky  says  I  have  not  the  poise 
I  might  have  had.  He  is  very  clever.  There 
was  a  shock,  he  says,  to  the  nerve  centres. 


76  A  TOUCH  OF  SUN 

They  will  never  again  be  quite  under  control. 
It  is  true.  At  this  moment  I  am  shivering 
•within  me  because  I  must  say  good-by  to  one 
I  might  have  had  all  my  life  for  a  friend.  Is 
it  so?" 

"  My  dear,  if  you  mean  me,  I  love  you !  " 
"  Call  me  Helen,  then.   You  said  (  my  dear J 
before  you  knew  me." 
"  Before  I  meant  it." 

"  I  wonder  who  can  be  arriving.  That  is 
the  carriage  I  came  out  in  last  night." 

A  light  surrey  with  two  seats  passed  below 
the  hill,  and  was  visible  an  instant  against  a 
belt  of  sky. 

"  It  is  going  to  stop,"  said  Mrs.  Thome. 
"  Suppose  we  step  back  a  little.  I  shall  not 
see  visitors  to-night.  Very  likely  it  is  only 
some  one  for  Mr.  Thome." 

A  tall  young  man  in  traveling  clothes 
stepped  out  upon  the  horse-block,  left  his 
luggage  there,  and  made  ten  strides  up  the 
walk.  They  heard  his  step  exploring  the 
empty  piazzas. 

"  It  is  Willy !  "  said  Mrs.  Thorne  in  a  stac- 
cato whisper. 

"  Then  good-by !  "  said  Miss  Benedet.    "  I 


A  TOUCH  OF  SUN  77 

will  find  Mr.  Thome  in  the  garden.  Dearest 
Mrs.  Thome,  you  must  let  me  go  !  " 

"  You  will  not  see  him  ?  Not  see  Willy !  " 

"  Not  for  worlds.  He  must  not  know  that 
I  am  here.  I  trust  you."  She  tore  herself 
away. 

Mrs.  Thome  stood  paralyzed  between  the 
two — her  advancing  son,  and  her  fleeing 
guest. 

"  Willy  ! "  she  cried. 

Her  tall  boy  was  bending  over  her  —  once 
more  the  high,  fair  head,  the  smooth  arch  of 
the  neck,  which  she  could  barely  reach  to  put 
her  arms  about  it. 

"  Mother  !  "  The  word  in  his  grave  man's 
voice  thrilled  her  as  once  had  the  touch  of  his 
baby  hands. 

"  I  am  afraid  to  look  at  you,  my  son.  How 
is  it  with  you  ?  " 

"  I  am  all  right,  mother.  How  are  things 
here?" 

"  Oh,  don't  speak  of  us  !  Did  you  get  my 
letter?" 

"  This  morning." 

«  And  you  read  it,  Willy  ?  " 

"  Of  course." 

There  was  a  silence.    Mrs.  Thome  clasped 


78  A  TOUCH  OF  SUN 

her  son's  arm  and  leaned  her  head  against 

it. 

"  I  am  sorry  you  worried  so,  mother." 

"  What  does  it  matter  about  me  ?  " 

"  I  am  sorry  you  took  it  so  hard  —  because 

—  I  knew  it  all  the  time." 

"  You  knew  it !  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 
"  A  nice  old  lady  told  me.   She  was  staying 

in  the  house.   She  cornered  me  and  told  me 

a   long    story  —  the  day   after   I   met   Miss 

Benedet." 

"  What  an  infamous  old  woman  !  " 

"  She  called  herself  a  friend  of  yours  — 

warned  me  for  your  sake,  she  said,  and  because 

she  has  sons  of  her  own." 
"  Oh  !   Has  she  daughters  ?  " 
"  Two  —  staying  in  the  house." 
"  I  see.  She  told  it  brutally,  I  suppose  ?  " 
"  Quite  so." 

"  Worse  than  I  did,  Willy?" 
William  the  Silent  held  his  peace. 
"  You  did  not  believe  it  ?   How  much  of  it 

did  you  believe  ?  " 

"Mother,"  he  said,  "do  you  think  a  man 

can't  see  what  a  girl  is  ?  " 

"  But  what  do  you  know  about  girls  ?  " 
"Where  is  she?" 


A  TOUCH  OF  SUN  79 

«  What ! " 

"  Where  is  Helen  ?  The  man  from  Lord's 
said  he  brought  her  out  here  last  night." 

"  Did  you  not  get  her  letter  ?  "  Mrs.  Thorne 
evaded. 

«  Where  shaU  I  find  her?" 

"  Willy,  I  am  a  perjured  woman !  I  have 
been  making  mischief  steadily  for  two 
days." 

"  You  might  as  well  go  on,  mater."  Willy 
beamed  gravely  upon  his  mother's  career  of 
dissimulation. 

"  Don't,  for  pity's  sake,  be  hopeful !  She 
said  she  would  not  see  you  for  worlds." 

"  Then  she  has  n't  gone." 

Willy  took  a  quick  survey  of  the  premises. 
He  had  long  gray  eyes  and  a  set  mouth.  He 
saw  most  things  that  he  looked  at,  and  when 
he  aimed  for  a  thing  he  usually  got  somewhere 
near  the  mark. 

"  She  is  not  in  the  house,"  he  decided ; 
"she  is  not  on  the  hill  —  remains  the  gar- 
den." 

Mrs.  Thorne  stood  alone,  meditating  on  Miss 
Benedet's  trust  in  her.  She  saw  her  husband, 
her  stool  of  repentance  and  her  mercy-seat 


80  A  TOUCH  OF  SUN 

in  one,  plodding  toward  her  contentedly  across 
the  soft  garden  ground,  stepping  between 
the  lettuces  and  avoiding  the  parsley  bed. 
He  knocked  off  a  huge  fat  kitchen  weed  with 
his  cane. 

"  Where  is  that  girl  ?  "  he  said.  "  It 's  time 
you  got  your  things  on.  We  ought  to  be 
starting  in  ten  minutes." 

"  If  you  can  find  Willy  you  '11  probably 
find  '  that  girl ' !  "  Mrs.  Thorne  explained, 
and  then  proceeded  to  explain  further,  as 
she  walked  with  her  husband  back  to  the 
house. 

"  Well,"  he  summed  up,  "  what  is  your 
opinion  of  the  universe  up  to  date  ?  Got  any 
faith  in  anything  left  ?  " 


THE  MAID'S  PROGRESS 


THE  MAID'S  PROGRESS 

FROM  the  great  plateau  of  the  Snake  Kiver,  at 
a  point  that  is  far  from  any  main  station,  the 
stage-road  sinks  into  a  hollow  which  the  winds 
might  have  scooped,  so  constantly  do  they 
pounce  and  delve  and  circle  round  the  spot. 
Down  in  this  pothole,  where  sand  has  drifted 
into  the  infrequent  wheel  tracks,  there  is  a 
dead  stillness  while  the  perpetual  land  gale  is 
roaring  and  troubling  above. 

One  noon  at  the  latter  end  of  summer  a 
wagon  carrying  four  persons,  with  camp  gear 
and  provision  for  a  self -subsisting  trip,  jolted 
down  into  this  hollow,  the  horses  sweating  at 
a  walk  as  they  beat  through  the  heavy  sand. 
The  teamster  drew  them  up  and  looked  hard  at 
the  singular,  lonely  place. 

"  I  don't  see  any  signs  of  that  old  corral, 
do  you  ?  "  objected  the  man  beside  him.  He 
spoke  low,  as  if  to  keep  his  doubts  from  their 
neighbors  on  the  back  seat.  These,  an  old, 
delicate,  reverend  looking  gentleman,  and  a 
veiled  woman  sitting  very  erect,  were  silent, 


84  THE  MAID'S  PROGRESS 

awaiting  some  decision  of  their  fellow  trav- 
elers. 

"  There  would  n't  be  much  of  anything  left 
of  it,"  the  teamster  urged  on  the  point  in  ques- 
tion ;  "  only  a  few  rails  and  wattles,  maybe. 
Campers  would  have  made  a  clean-up  of  them." 

"  You  think  this  is  the  place,  do  you  not, 
Mr.  Thane?  This  is  Pilgrim  Station?"  The 
old  gentleman  spoke  to  the  younger  of  the  two 
men  in  front,  who,  turning,  showed  the  three- 
quarter  view  of  a  tanned,  immobile  face  and 
the  keen  side  glance  of  a  pair  of  dense  black 
eyes,  —  eyes  that  saw  everything  and  told 
nothing. 

"  One  of  our  landmarks  seems  to  be  miss- 
ing. I  was  just  asking  Kinney  about  it,"  he 
said. 

Mr.  Kinney  was  not,  it  appeared,  as  famil- 
iar as  a  guide  should  be  with  the  road,  which 
had  fallen  from  use  before  he  came  to  that  part 
of  the  country ;  but  his  knowledge  of  roads 
in  general  inclined  him  to  take  with  allowance 
the  testimony  of  any  one  man  of  merely  local 
information. 

"  That  fool  Mormon  at  the  ferry  hain't  been 
past  here,  he  said  himself,  since  the  stage  was 
pulled  off.  What  was  here  then  would  n't  be 


THE  MAID'S  PROGRESS  85 

here  now  —  not  if  it  could  be  eat  up  or  burnt 
up." 

"  So  you  think  this  is  the  place  ?  "  the  old 
gentleman  repeated.  His  face  was  quite  pale ; 
he  looked  about  him  shrinkingly,  with  a  la- 
tent, apprehensive  excitement  strangely  out  of 
keeping  with  the  void  stillness  of  the  hollow, 
—  a  spot  which  seemed  to  claim  as  little  on  the 
score  of  human  interest  or  association  as  any 
they  had  passed  on  their  long  road  hither. 

"  Well,  it 's  just  this  way,  Mr.  Withers :  here 's 
the  holler,  and  here 's  the  stomped  place  where 
the  sheep  have  camped,  and  the  cattle  trails 
getherin'  from  everywheres  to  the  water,  and 
the  young  rabbit  brush  that 's  sprung  up  since 
the  plains  was  burnt  over.  If  this  ain't  Pil- 
grim Station,  we  're  lost  pilgrims  ourselves,  I 
guess.  We  hain't  passed  it ;  it 's  time  we  come 
to  it,  and  there  ain't  no  road  but  this.  As  I 
put  it  up,  this  here  has  got  to  be  the  place." 

"  I  believe  you,  Mr.  Kinney,"  the  old  man 
solemnly  confirmed  him.  "  Something  tells  me 
that  this  is  the  spot.  I  might  almost  say,"  he 
added  in  a  lower  tone  to  his  companion,  while 
a  slight  shiver  passed  over  him  in  the  hot 
sunlight,  "  that  a  voice  cries  to  us  from  the 
ground !  " 


86  THE  MAID'S  PROGRESS 

Those  in  front  had  not  heard  him.  After 
a  pause  Mr.  Thane  looked  round  again,  smiled 
tentatively,  and  said,  "Well?" 

"  Well,  Daphne,  my  dear,  had  n't  we  better 
get  out  ?  "  Mr.  Withers  conjoined. 

She  who  answered  to  this  pretty  pagan 
name  did  so  mutely  by  rising  in  her  place. 
The  wind  had  moulded  her  light-colored  veil 
close  to  her  half-defined  features,  to  the  out- 
line of  her  cheeks  and  low-knotted  hair ;  her 
form,  which  was  youthful  and  slender,  was 
swathed  in  a  clinging  raw-silk  dust-cloak.  As 
she  stood,  hesitating  before  summoning  her 
cramped  limbs  to  her  service,  she  might  have 
suggested  some  half-evolved  conception  of 
doubting  young  womanhood  emerging  from 
the  sculptor's  clay.  Personality,  as  yet,  she 
had  none ;  but  all  that  could  be  seen  of  her 
was  pure  feminine. 

Thane  reached  the  side  of  the  wagon  before 
the  veiled  young  woman  could  attempt  to 
jump.  She  freed  her  skirts,  stepped  on  the 
brake  bar,  and  stooping,  with  his  support 
made  a  successful  spring  to  the  ground.  Mr. 
Withers  climbed  out  more  cautiously,  keeping 
his  hand  on  Thane's  arm  for  a  few  steps 
through  the  heavy  sand.  Thane  left  his 


THE  MAID'S  PROGRESS  87 

fellow  pilgrims  to  themselves  apart,  and 
returned  to  help  the  teamster  take  out  the 
horses. 

"It  looks  queer  to  me,"  Mr.  Kinney  re- 
marked, "  that  folks  should  want  to  come  so 
far  on  purpose  to  harrer  up  their  feelin's  all 
over  again.  It  ain't  as  if  the  young  man  was 
buried  here,  nor  as  if  they  was  goin'  to  mark 
the  spot  with  one  of  them  Catholic  crosses 
like  you  see  down  in  Mexico,  where  blood 's 
been  spilt  by  the  roadside.  But  just  to  set 
here  and  think  about  it,  and  chaw  on  a  mis'able 
thing  that  happened  two  years  and  more  ago  ! 
Lord !  I  would  n't  want  to,  and  I  ain't  his 
father  nor  yet  his  girl.  Would  you  ?  " 

"  Hardly,"  said  Thane.  «  Still,  if  you  felt 
about  it  as  Mr.  Withers  does,  you  'd  put 
yourself  in  the  place  of  the  dead,  not  the 
living ;  and  he  has  a  reason  for  Coming, 
besides.  I  have  n't  spoken  of  it,  because  I 
doubt  if  the  thing  is  feasible.  He  wants  to 
see  whether  the  water  of  the  spring  can  be 
brought  into  the  hollow  here  —  piped,  to  feed 
a  permanent  drinking  trough  and  fountain. 
Good  for  evil,  you  see  —  the  soft  answer." 

"  Well,  that 's  business !  That  gits  down 
where  a  man  lives.  His  cattle  kin  come  in  on 


88  THE  MAID'S  PROGRESS 

that,  too.  There  's  more  in  that,  to  my  mind, 
than  in  a  bare  wooden  cross.  Pity  there  won't 
be  more  teamin'  on  this  road.  Now  the  stage 
has  hauled  off,  I  don't  expect  as  many  as 
three  outfits  a  year  will  water  at  that  fountain, 
excusin'  the  sheep,  and  they  '11  walk  over  it 
and  into  it,  and  gorm  up  the  whole  place." 

"  Well,  the  idea  has  been  a  great  comfort 
to  Mr.  Withers,  but  it 's  not  likely  anything 
more  will  ever  come  of  it.  From  all  we  hear, 
the  spring  would  have  to  run  up  hill  to  reach 
this  hollow;  but  you  won't  speak  of  it,  will 
you,  till  we  know  ?  " 

"  Gosh,  no  !  But  water  might  be  struck 
higher  up  the  gulch  —  might  sink  a  trench 
and  cut  off  the  spring." 

"  That  would  depend  on  the  source,"  said 
Thane,  "  and  on  how  much  the  old  gentleman 
is  willing  to  stand ;  the  fountain  alone,  by  the 
time  you  haul  the  stone  here,  will  foot  up 
pretty  well  into  the  thousands.  But  we  '11  see." 

"  Had  n't  you  better  stay  round  here  with 
them  till  I  git  back  ?  "  Kinuey  suggested;  for 
Thane  had  taken  the  empty  canteens  from 
the  wagon,  and  was  preparing  to  go  with  him 
to  the  spring.  "  You  kin  do  your  prospectin' 
later." 


THE  MAID'S  PROGRESS  89 

"They  would  rather  be  by  themselves,  I 
think,"  said  Thane.  But  seeing  Mr.  Withers 
coming  towards  him,  as  if  to  speak,  he  turned 
back  to  meet  him. 

"  You  are  going  now  to  look  for  the  spring, 
are  you  not  ?  "  the  old  gentleman  asked,  in 
his  courteous,  dependent  manner. 

"  Yes,  Mr.  Withers.  Is  there  anything  I 
can  do  for  you  first?  " 

"  Nothing,  I  thank  you."  The  old  gentle- 
man looked  at  him  half  expectantly,  but  Thane 
was  not  equal,  in  words,  to  the  occasion. 
"  This  is  the  place,  Mr.  Thane,"  he  cadenced, 
in  his  measured,  clerical  tones.  "  This  is  the 
spot  that  last  saw  my  dear  boy  alive,  —  that 
witnessed  his  agony  and  death."  He  extended 
a  white,  thin,  and  now  shaking  hand,  which 
Thane  grasped,  uncovering  his  head.  Mr. 
Withers  raised  his  left  hand;  his  pale  eyes 
blinked  in  the  sunlight ;  they  were  dim  with 
tears. 

"In  memory  of  John  Withers,"  he  pro- 
nounced, "  foully  robbed  of  life  in  this  lonely 
spot,  we  three  are  gathered  here,  —  his  friend, 
his  father,  and  his  bride  that  should  have 
been."  Thane's  eyes  were  on  the  ground,  but 
he  silently  renewed  his  grasp  of  the  old  man's 


90  THE  MAID'S  PROGRESS 

hand.  "  May  God  be  our  Guide  as  we  go 
hence  to  finish  our  separate  journeys!  May 
He  help  us  to  forgive  as  we  hope  to  be  for- 
given !  May  He  teach  us  submission  !  But, 
0  Lord  !  Thou  knowest  it  is  hard." 

"Mr.  Withers  is  a  parson,  ain't  he?" 
Kinney  inquired,  as  he  and  Thane,  each  lead- 
ing one  of  the  team  horses,  and  with  an  empty 
canteen  swinging  by  its  strap  from  his  shoulder, 
filed  down  the  little  stony  gulch  that  puckers 
the  first  rising  ground  to  riverward  of  the 
hollow.  "  Thought  he  seemed  to  be  makin'  a 
prayer  or  askin'  a  blessin'  or  somethin',  when 
he  had  holt  of  you  there  by  the  flipper  j  kind 
of  embarrassing  wa'n't  it  ?  " 

"  That 's  as  one  looks  at  it,"  said  Thane. 
"  Mr.  Withers  is  a  clergyman  ;  his  manner 
may  be  partly  professional,  but  he  strikes  one 
as  always  sincere.  And  he  has  n't  a  particle  of 
self -consciousness  where  his  grief  for  his  son 
is  concerned.  I  don't  know  that  he  has  about 
anything.  He  calls  on  his  Maker  just  as 
naturally  as  you  and  I,  perhaps,  might  take 
his  name  in  vain." 

"  No,  sir !  I  've  quit  that,"  Mr.  Kinney 
objected.  "  I  drawed  the  line  there  some 
years  ago,  on  account  of  my  wife,  the  way  she 


THE  MAID'S  PROGRESS  91 

felt  about  it,  and  the  children  growin'  up. 
I  quit  when  I  was  workin'  round  home,  and 
now  I  don't  seem  to  miss  it  none.  I  git  along 
jest  as  well.  Course  I  have  to  cuss  a  little 
sometimes.  But  I  liked  the  way  you  listened 
to  the  old  man's  warblin'.  Because  talkin'  is 
a  man's  trade,  it  ain't  to  say  he  hasn't  got 
his  feelin's." 

As  the  hill  cut  off  sounds  of  retreating 
voices  and  horseshoes  clinking  on  the  stones, 
a  stillness  that  was  a  distinct  sensation  brooded 
upon  the  hollow.  Daphne  sighed  as  if  she 
were  in  pain.  She  had  taken  off  her  veil,  and 
now  she  was  peeling  the  gloves  from  her  white 
wrists  and  warm,  unsteady  hands.  Her  face, 
exposed,  hardly  sustained  the  promise  of  the 
veiled  suggestion  ;  but  no  man  was  ever  known 
to  find  fault  with  it  so  long  as  he  had  hopes ; 
afterwards  —  but  even  then  it  was  a  matter 
of  temperament.  There  were  those  who  re- 
membered it  all  the  more  keenly  for  its  daring 
deviations  and  provoking  shortcomings. 

It  could  not  have  been  said  of  Daphne  that 
her  grief  was  without  self -consciousness.  Still, 
much  of  her  constraint  and  unevenness  of 
manner  might  have  been  set  down  to  the 
circumstances  of  her  present  position.  Why 


92  THE  MAID'S  PROGRESS 

she  should  have  placed  herself,  or  have  allowed 
her  friends  to  place  her,  in  an  attitude  of  such 
unhappy  publicity  Thane  had  asked  himself 
many  times,  and  the  question  angered  him  as 
often  as  it  came  up.  He  could  only  refer  it  to 
the  singularly  unprogressive  ideas  of  the  Far 
West  peculiar  to  Far  Eastern  people.  Appar- 
ently they  had  thought  that,  barring  a  friend 
or  two  of  Jack's,  they  would  be  as  much 
alone  with  their  tragic  memories  in  the  capital 
city  of  Idaho  as  at  this  abandoned  stage- 
station  in  the  desert  where  their  pilgrimage 
had  ended.  They  had  not  found  it  quite  the 
same.  Daphne  could,  and  probably  did,  read 
of  herself  in  the  "  Silver  Standard,"  Sunday 
edition,  which  treats  of  social  events,  heralded 
among  the  prominent  arrivals  as  "Jack 
Withers' s  maiden  widow."  This  was  a  poetical 
flight  of  the  city  reporter.  Thane  had  smiled 
at  the  phrase,  but  that  was  before  he  had  seen 
Daphne ;  since  then,  whenever  he  thought  of  it, 
he  pined  for  a  suitable  occasion  for  punching 
the  reporter's  head.  There  had  been  more  of 
his  language ;  the  paper  had  given  liberally  of 
its  space  to  celebrate  this  interesting  advent 
of  the  maiden  widow  with  her  uncle,  "the 
Kev.  Withers,"  as  the  reporter  styled  him, 


THE  MAID'S  PROGRESS  93 

"  father  of  the  lamented  young  man  whose 
shocking  murder,  two  years  ago,  at  Pilgrim 
Station,  on  the  eve  of  his  return  to  home  and 
happiness,  cast  such  a  gloom  over  our  com- 
munity, in  which  the  victim  of  the  barbarous 
deed  had  none  but  devoted  friends  and  ad- 
mirers. It  is  to  be  hoped  that  the  reverend 
gentleman  and  the  bereaved  young  lady,  his 
companion  on  this  sad  journey,  will  meet  with 
every  mark  of  attention  and  respect  which  it 
is  in  the  power  of  our  citizens  to  bestow,  dur- 
ing their  stay  among  us." 

Now,  in  the  dead,  hot  stillness,  they  two 
alone  at  last,  Daphne  sat  beside  her  uncle  in 
the  place  of  their  solemn  tryst ;  and  more  than 
ever  her  excitement  and  unrest  were  manifest, 
in  contrast  to  his  mild  and  chastened  melan- 
choly. She  started  violently  as  his  voice  broke 
the  silence  in  a  measured,  musing  monotone  : 

" '  Drink,  weary  pilgrim,  drink  and  pray 
For  the  poor  soul  of  Sibyl  Grey, 
Who  built  this  cross  and  well.' 

"  These  lines,"  he  continued  in  his  ordinary 
prose  accent,  "  gave  me  my  first  suggestion  of 
a  cross  and  well  at  Pilgrim  Station,  aided,  per- 
haps, by  the  name  itself,  so  singularly  appro- 
priate; not  at  all  consistent,  Mr.  Thane  tells 


94  THE  MAID'S  PROGRESS 

me,  with  the  usual  haphazard  nomenclature  of 
this  region.  However,  this  is  the  old  Oregon 
emigrant  trail,  and  in  the  early  forties  men 
of  education  and  Christian  sentiment  were 
pioneers  on  this  road.  But  now  that  I  see 
the  place  and  the  country  round  it,  I  find  the 
Middle  Ages  are  not  old  enough  to  borrow 
from.  We  must  go  back,  away  back  of  chiv- 
alry and  monkish  superstition,  to  the  life-giving 
pools  of  that  country  where  the  story  of  man 
began ;  where  water,  in  the  language  of  its 
people,  was  justly  made  the  symbol  of  their 
highest  spiritual  as  well  as  physical  needs  and 
cravings.  'And  David  longed,  and  said,  Oh, 
that  one  would  give  me  drink  of  the  water  of 
the  well  of  Beth-lehem,  that  is  at  the  gate !  ' 
It  is  a  far  cry  here  to  any  gate  but  the  gate  of 
sunset,  which  we  have  been  traveling  against 
from  morning  to  evening  since  our  journey  be- 
gan, yet  never  approaching  any  nearer.  But  this, 
nevertheless,  is  the  country  of  David's  well,  — 
a  dry,  elevated  plain,  surrounded  by  mountains 
strangely  gashed  and  riven  and  written  all  over 
in  Nature's  characters,  but  except  for  the  speech 
of  a  wandering,  unlettered  people,  dumb  as  to 
the  deeds  of  man.  Mr.  Thane  tells  me  that  if 
the  wells  on  this  road  were  as  many  as  the 


THE  MAID'S  PROGRESS  95 

deaths  by  violence  have  been,  we  might  be 
pasturing  our  horses  in  green  fields  at  night, 
instead  of  increasing  their  load  with  the  weight 
of  their  food  as  well  as  our  own.  Yes,  it  is  a 
1  desolate  land  and  lone  ; '  and  if  we  build  our 
fountain,  according  to  my  first  intention,  in 
the  form  of  a  cross,  blessing  and  shadowing 
the  water,  it  must  be  a  rude  and  massive  one, 
such  as  humble  shepherds  or  herdsmen  might 
accidentally  have  fashioned  in  the  dark  days 
before  its  power  and  significance  were  known. 
It  will  be  all  the  more  enduring,  and  the  text 
shall  be"  — 

"  Uncle,"  cried  Daphne  in  a  smothered  voice, 
"never  mind  the  text!  /  am  your  text! 
Listen  to  me !  If  your  cross  stood  there  now, 
here  is  the  one  who  should  be  in  the  dust  be- 
fore it ! "  She  pressed  her  open  hand  upon  her 
breast. 

The  gesture,  her  emphasis,  the  extreme  fig- 
ure of  speech  she  had  used,  were  repellent  to 
Mr.  Withers  over  and  above  his  amazement  at 
her  words.  As  he  had  not  been  observing  her, 
he  was  totally  unprepared  for  such  an  out- 
burst. 

"  Daphne,  my  dear !  Do  I  understand  you  ? 
I  cannot  conceive  "  — 


96  THE  MAID'S  PROGRESS 

But  Daphne  could  not  wait  for  her  meaning 
to  sink  in.  "  Uncle  John, "  she  interrupted,  tak- 
ing a  quick  breath  of  resolution,  "  I  have  read 
somewhere  that  if  a  woman  is  dishonest,  deep 
down,  deliberately  a  hypocrite,  she  ought  to  be 
gently  and  mercifully  killed;  a  woman  not 
honest  had  better  not  be  alive.  Uncle,  I  have 
something  to  say  to  you  about  myself.  Gently 
and  mercifully  listen  to  me,  for  it  ought  to  kill 
me  to  say  it ! " 

Mr.  Withers  turned  apprehensively,  and  was 
startled  by  the  expression  of  Daphne's  face. 
She  was  undoubtedly  in  earnest.  He  grew  quite 
pale.  "  Not  here,  my  dear,"  he  entreated ; "  not 
now.  Let  our  thoughts  be  single  for  this  one 
hour  that  we  shall  be  alone  together.  Let  it 
wait  for  a  little,  this  woeful  confession.  I  think 
you  probably  exaggerate  your  need  of  it,  as 
young  souls  are  apt  to  who  have  not  learned 
to  bear  the  pain  of  self-knowledge,  or  self- 
reproach  without  knowledge.  Let  us  forget 
ourselves,  and  think  of  our  beloved  dead." 

"Uncle,  it  must  be  here  and  now.  I  can- 
not go  away  from  this  place  a  liar,  as  I  came. 
Let  me  leave  it  here, — my  cowardly,  contemp- 
tible falsehood, — in  this  place  of  your  cross. 
I  am  longing,  like  David,  for  that  water  they 


THE  MAID'S  PROGRESS  97 

have  gone  to  find,  but  I  will  not  drink  at  Pil- 
grim Station,  except  with  clean  lips  that  have 
confessed  and  told  you  all." 

Mr.  Withers  shrank  from  these  unrestrained 
and  to  him  indecorous  statements  of  feeling ; 
they  shocked  him  almost  as  much  as  would 
the  spectacle  of  Daphne  mutilating  her  beauti- 
ful hair,  casting  dust  upon  her  head,  and  rend- 
ing her  garments  before  him.  He  believed  that 
her  trouble  of  soul  was  genuine,  but  his  Puri- 
tan reserve  in  matters  of  conscience,  his  schol- 
arly taste,  his  jealousy  for  the  occasion  which 
had  brought  them  to  that  spot,  all  combined 
to  make  this  unrestrained  expression  of  it  of- 
fensive to  him.  However,  he  no  longer  tried 
to  repress  her. 

"  Uncle,  you  don't  believe  me,"  she  said ; 
"  but  you  must.  I  am  quite  myself." 

"  Except  for  the  prolonged  nervous  strain 
you  have  been  suffering ;  and  I  am  afraid  I 
have  not  known  how  to  spare  you  as  I  might 
the  fatigue,  the  altitude  perhaps,  the  long  jour- 
ney face  to  face  with  these  cruel  memories. 
But  I  will  not  press  it,  I  will  not  press  it,"  he 
concluded  hastily,  seeing  that  his  words  dis- 
tressed her. 

"  Press  it  all  you  can,"  she  said.    "  I  wish 


98  THE  MAID'S  PROGRESS 

you  could  press  it  hard  enough  for  me  to  feel 
it;  but  I  feel  nothing  —  I  am  a  stone.  At 
this  moment,"  she  reiterated,  "  I  have  no  feel- 
ing of  any  kind  but  shame  for  myself  that  I 
should  be  here  at  all.  Oh,  if  you  only  knew 
what  I  am !  " 

"  It  is  not  what  you  are,  it  is  who  you  are, 
that  brings  you  here,  Daphne." 

"Yes,  who  I  am!  "Who  am  I?  What  right 
had  I  to  come  here  ?  I  never  loved  him.  I 
never  was  engaged  to  him,  but  I  let  you  think 
so.  When  you  wrote  me  that  sweet  letter  and 
called  me  your  daughter,  why  did  n't  I  tell  you 
the  truth?  Because  in  that  same  letter  you 
offered  me  his  money  —  and  —  and  I  wanted 
the  money.  I  lied  to  you  then,  when  you  were 
in  the  first  of  your  grief,  to  get  his  money ! 
I  have  been  trying  to  live  up  to  that  lie  ever 
since.  It  has  almost  killed  me ;  it  has  killed 
every  bit  of  truth  and  decent  womanly  pride 
in  me.  I  want  you  to  save  me  from  it  before 
I  grow  any  worse.  You  must  take  back  the 
money.  It  did  one  good  thing :  it  paid  those 
selfish  debts  of  mine,  and  it  made  mother  well. 
What  has  been  spent  I  will  work  for  and  pay 
back  as  I  can.  But  I  love  you,  uncle  John  ; 
there  has  been  no  falsehood  there." 


THE  MAID'S  PROGRESS  99 

"This  is  the  language  of  sheer  insanity, 
Daphne,  of  mental  excitement  that  passes  rea- 
son." Mr.  Withers  spoke  in  a  carefully  con- 
trolled but  quivering  voice  —  as  a  man  who 
has  been  struck  an  unexpected  and  stagger- 
ing blow,  but  considering  the  quarter  it  came 
from,  is  prepared  to  treat  it  as  an  accident. 
"  The  facts,  John's  own  words  in  his  last 
letter  to  me,  cannot  be  gainsaid.  ( I  am  com- 
ing home  to  you,  dad,  and  to  whom  else  I 
need  not  say.  You  know  that  I  have  never 
changed,  but  she  has  changed,  God  bless  her ! 
How  well  He  made  them,  to  be  our  thorn,  our 
spur,  our  punishment,  our  prevention,  and  some- 
times our  cure !  I  am  coming  home  to  be  cured/ 
he  said.  You  have  not  forgotten  the  words  of 
that  letter,  dear  ?  I  sent  it  to  you,  but  first  — 
I  thought  you  would  not  mind  —  I  copied 
those,  his  last  words.  They  were  words  of  such 
happiness ;  and  they  implied  a  thought,  at  least, 
of  his  Creator,  if  not  that  grounded  faith" — 

"  They  were  hopes,  only  hopes  !  "  the  girl 
remorsefully  disclaimed.  "I  allowed  him  to 
have  them  because  I  wanted  time  to  make  up 
my  wretched,  selfish  mind.  I  had  never  made 
him  a  single  promise,  never  said  one  word 
that  could  give  me  the  right  to  pose  as  I  did 


100  THE  MAID'S  PROGRESS 

afterwards,  to  let  myself  be  grieved  over  as  if 
I  had  lost  my  last  hope  on  earth.  I  had  his 
money  all  safe  enough." 

"Daphne,  I  forbid  you  to  speak  in  that 
tone !  There  are  bounds  even  to  confession. 
If  you  think  well  to  degrade  yourself  by  such 
allusions,  do  not  degrade  me  by  forcing  me  to 
listen  to  you.  This  is  a  subject  too  sacred  to 
be  discussed  in  its  mercenary  bearings ;  settle 
that  question  with  yourself  as  you  will,  but 
let  me  hear  no  more  of  it." 

Daphne  was  silenced ;  for  the  first  time  in 
her  remembrance  of  him  she  had  seen  her 
uncle  driven  to  positive  severity,  to  anger 
even,  in  opposition  to  the  truth  which  his 
heart  refused  to  accept.  When  he  was  calmer 
he  began  to  reason  with  her,  to  uphold  her  in 
the  true  faith,  against  her  seeming  self,  in 
these  profane  and  ruthless  disclosures. 

"  You  are  morbid,"  he  declared,  "  over- 
sensitive, from  dwelling  too  long  on  this  pain- 
ful chapter  of  your  life.  No  one  knows  better 
than  myself  what  disorders  of  the  imagination 
may  result  from  a  mood  of  the  soul,  a  passing 
mood,  —  the  pains  of  growth,  perhaps.  You 
are  a  woman  now  ;  but  let  the  woman  not  be 
too  hard  upon  the  girl  that  she  was.  After 


THE  MAID'S  PROGRESS  101 


•what  you  have  been  through  quite  lately^*  and 
for  two  years  past,  I  pronounce  you  mentally^ 
unfit  to  cope  with  your  own  condition.  Say 
that  you  did  not  promise  him  in  words ;  the 
promise  was  given  no  less  in  spirit.  How  else 
could  he  have  been  so  exaltedly  sure?  He 
never  was  before.  You  had  never  before,  I 
think,  given  him  any  grounds  for  hope  ?  " 

"  No ;  I  was  always  honest  before,"  said 
Daphne  humbly.  "  When  I  first  refused  him, 
when  we  were  both  such  children,  and  he  went 
away,  I  promised  to  answer  his  letters  if  he 
would  let  that  subject  rest.  And  so  I  did. 
But  every  now  and  then  he  would  try  me 
again,  to  see  if  I  had  changed,  and  that  letter 
I  would  not  answer  ;  and  presently  he  would 
write  again,  in  his  usual  way.  As  often  as  he 
brought  up  the  old  question,  just  so  often  I 
stopped  writing ;  silence  was  always  my  answer, 
till  that  last  winter,  when  I  made  my  final 
attempt  to  do  something  with  my  painting 
and  failed  so  miserably.  You  don't  know, 
uncle,  how  hard  I  have  worked,  or  what  it 
cost  me  to  fail,  —  to  have  to  own  that  all  had 
been  wasted :  my  three  expensive  winters  in 
Boston,  my  cutting  loose  from  all  the  little 
home  duties,  in  the  hope  of  doing  something 


102  THE  MAID'S  PROGRESS 

great  that  would  pay  for  all.  And  that  last 
winter  jt  did  not  make  my  expenses,  even. 
After  borrowing  every  cent  that  mother  could 
spare  (more  than  she  ought  to  have  spared ; 
it  was  doing  without  a  girl  that  broke  her 
down)  and  denying  myself,  or  denying  her, 
my  home  visit  at  Christmas  ;  and  setting  up 
in  a  studio  of  my  own,  and  taking  pains  to 
have  all  the  surroundings  that  are  said  to 
bring  success,  —  and  then,  after  all,  to  fail, 
and  fail,  and  fail !  And  spring  came,  and 
mother  looked  so  ill,  and  the  doctor  said  she 
must  have  rest,  total  rest  and  change  ;  and  he 
looked  at  me  as  if  he  would  like  to  say,  '  You 
did  it ! '  Well,  the  '  rest '  I  brought  her  was 
my  debts  and  my  failure  and  remorse ;  and  I 
was  n't  even  in  good  health,  I  was  so  used  up 
with  my  winter's  struggle.  It  was  then,  in  the 
midst  of  all  that  trouble  and  shame  and  hor- 
ror at  myself,  his  sweet  letter  came.  No,  not 
sweet,  but  manly  and  generous,  — utterly  gen- 
erous, as  he  always  was.  I  ought  to  have  loved 
him,  uncle  dear ;  I  always  knew  it,  and  I  did 
try  very  hard  !  He  did  not  feel  his  way  this 
time,  but  just  poured  out  his  whole  heart  once 
for  all ;  I  knew  he  would  never  ask  me  again. 
And  then  the  fatal  word ;  he  said  he  had 


THE  MAID'S  PROGRESS  103 

grown  rich.  He  could  give  me  the  opportuni- 
ties my  nature  demanded.  You  know  how  he 
would  talk.  He  believed  in  me,  if  nobody  else 
ever  did  ;  I  could  not  have  convinced  him  that 
I  was  a  failure. 

"  It  was  very  soothing  to  my  wounds.  I 
was  absolutely  shaken  by  the  temptation.  It 
meant  so  much  ;  such  a  refuge  from  self-con- 
tempt and  poverty  and  blame,  and  such  rest 
and  comfort  it  would  bring  to  mother  !  I  hope 
that  had  something  to  do  with  it.  You  see  I 
am  looking  for  a  loophole  to  crawl  out  of ;  I 
have  n't  strength  of  mind  to  face  it  without 
some  excuse.  Well,  I  answered  that  letter ; 
and  I  think  the  evil  one  himself  must  have 
helped  me,  for  I  wrote  it,  my  first  careful, 
deliberate  piece  of  double-dealing,  just  as 
easily  as  if  I  had  been  practicing  for  it  all  my 
life.  It  was  such  a  letter  as  any  man  would 
have  thought  meant  everything ;  yet  if  I  had 
wanted,  I  could  have  proved  by  the  words 
themselves  that  it  meant  nothing  that  could  n't 
be  taken  back. 

"  I  said  to  myself,  If  I  can  stand  it,  if  I  can 
hold  out  as  I  feel  now,  I  will  marry  him  ;  then 
let  come  what  may.  I  knew  that  some  things 
would  come,  some  things  that  I  wanted  very 
much. 


104  THE  MAID'S  PROGRESS 

"  Then  came  the  strange  delay,  the  silence, 
the  wretched  telegrams  and  letters  back  and 
forth.  Ah,  dear,  do  I  make  you  cry  ?  Don't 
cry  for  him  ;  you  have  not  lost  him.  Cry  for 
me,  the  girl  you  thought  was  good  and  pure 
and  true  !  You  know  what  I  did  then,  when 
your  dear  letter  came,  giving  me  all  he  had, 
calling  me  your  daughter,  all  that  was  left  you 
of  John  !  I  deceived  you  in  your  grief,  hating 
myself  and  loving  you  all  the  time.  And  here 
I  am,  in  this  place  1  Do  you  wonder  I  had  to 
speak  ?  " 

"  Your  words  are  literally  as  blows  to  me, 
Daphne,"  Mr.  Withers  groaned,  covering  his 
face.  After  a  while  he  said,  "All  I  have  in 
the  world  would  have  been  yours  and  your 
mother's  had  you  come  to  me,  or  had  I  sus- 
pected the  trouble  you  were  in.  I  ought  to 
have  been  more  observant.  My  prepossessions 
must  be  very  strong;  doubtless  some  of  the 
readier  faculties  have  been  left  out  in  my 
mental  constitution.  I  hear  you  say  these 
words,  but  even  now  they  are  losing  their 
meaning  for  me.  I  can  see  that  your  distress 
is  genuine,  and  I  must  suppose  that  you  have 
referred  it  to  its  proper  cause ;  but  I  cannot 
master  the  fact  itself.  You  must  give  me  time 


THE  MAID'S  PROGRESS  105 

to  realize  it.  This  takes  much  out  of  life  for 
me." 

"  Not  my  love  for  you,  uncle  John ;  there 
has  been  no  falsehood  there." 

"  You  could  not  have  spared  yourself  and 
me  this  confession  ? "  the  old  man  queried. 
"But  no,  God  forgive  me  !  You  must  have 
suffered  grievous  things  in  your  young  con- 
science, my  dear ;  this  was  an  ugly  spot  to 
hide.  But  now  you  have  fought  your  fight 
and  won  it,  at  the  foot  of  the  cross.  To  say 
that  I  forgive  you,  that  we  both,  the  living 
and  the  dead,  forgive  you,  is  the  very  least 
that  can  be  said.  Come  here  !  Come  and  be 
my  daughter  as  before  !  My  daughter  !  "  he 
repeated.  And  Daphne,  on  her  knees,  put  her 
arms  about  his  neck  and  hid  her  face  against 
him. 

"  Thank  Heaven  !  "  he  murmured  brokenly, 
"  it  cannot  hurt  him  now.  He  has  found  his 
'  cure.'  As  a  candle-flame  in  this  broad  sun- 
light, so  all  those  earthly  longings  "  —  The 
old  gentleman  could  not  finish  his  sentence, 
though  a  sentence  was  dear  to  him  almost  as 
the  truth  from  which,  even  in  his  love  of 
verbiage,  his  speech  never  deviated.  "  So  we 
leave  it  here,"  he  said  at  last.  "  It  is  between 


106  THE  MAID'S  PROGRESS 

us  and  our  blessed  dead.  No  one  else  need 
know  what  you  have  had  the  courage  to  tell 
me.  Your  confession  concerns  no  other  living 
soul,  unless  it  be  your  mother,  and  I  see  no 
reason  why  her  heart  should  be  perturbed.  As 
for  the  money,  what  need  have  I  for  more 
than  my  present  sufficiency,  which  is  far  be- 
yond the  measure  of  my  efforts  or  deserts? 
I  beg  you  never  to  recur  to  the  subject,  unless 
you  would  purposely  wish  to  wound  me.  This 
is  a  question  of  conscience  purely,  and  you 
have  made  yours  clean.  Are  you  satisfied  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Daphne  faintly. 

"  What  is  the  residue  ?  Or  is  it  only  the 
troubled  waters  still  heaving  ?  " 

"  Yes,  perhaps  so." 

"  Well,  the  peace  will  come.  Promise  me, 
dear,  that  you  will  let  it  come.  Do  not  give 
yourself  the  pain  and  humiliation  of  repeating 
to  any  other  person  this  miserable  story  of 
your  fault." 

"It  was  more  than  a  fault;  you  know  that, 
uncle.  Your  conscience  could  not  have  borne 
it  for  an  hour." 

"  Your  sin,  then.  A  habit  of  confession  is 
debilitating  and  dangerous.  God  has  heard 
you,  and  I,  who  alone  in  this  world  could  have 


THE  MAID'S  PROGRESS  107 

the  right  to  reproach  you,  have  said  to  you,  Go 
in  peace.  Peace  let  it  be,  and  silence,  which  is 
the  safest  seal  of  a  true  confession." 

"  Do  you  mean  that  I  am  never  to  let  myself 
be  known  as  I  am?"  asked  Daphne.  Her  face 
had  changed ;  it  wore  a  look  of  fright  and 
resistance.  "  Why,  that  would  mean  that  I 
am  never  to  unmask ;  to  go  about  all  my  life 
in  my  trappings  of  false  widowhood.  You  read 
what  that  paper  called  me  !  I  cannot  play  the 
part  any  longer." 

"  Are  you  speaking  with  reference  to  these 
strangers?  But  this  will  soon  be  over,  dear. 
We  shah1  soon  be  at  home,  where  no  one  thinks 
of  us  except  as  they  have  known  us  all  their 
lives.  It  will  be  painful  for  a  little  while,  this 
conspicuousness ;  but  these  good  people  will 
soon  pass  out  of  our  lives,  and  we  out  of  theirs. 
Idle  speculation  will  have  little  to  do  with  us, 
after  this." 

"  There  will  be  always  speculation,"  implored 
the  girl.  "It  will  follow  me  wherever  I  go, 
and  all  my  life  I  shall  be  in  bondage  to  this 
wretched  lie.  Take  back  the  money,  uncle, 
and  give  me  the  price  I  paid  for  it, —  my  free- 
dom, myself  as  I  was  before  I  was  tempted ! " 

"  Ah,  if  that  could  be  !  "  said  the  old  gentle- 


108  THE  MAID'S  PROGRESS 

man.  "  Is  it  my  poor  boy's  memory  that  bur- 
dens you  so  ?  Is  it  that  which  you  would  be 
freed  from  ?  " 

"From  doing  false  homage  to  his  memory," 
Daphne  pleaded.  "  I  could  have  grieved  for 
him,  if  I  could  have  been  honest;  as  it  is,  I  am 
in  danger  almost  of  hating  him.  Forgive  me, 
uncle,  but  I  am  !  How  do  you  suppose  I  feel 
when  voices  are  lowered  and  eyes  cast  down, 
not  to  intrude  upon  my  peculiar,  privileged 
grief  ?  '  Here  I  and  Sorrow  sit ! '  Is  n't  it 
awful,  uncle  ?  Is  n't  it  ghastly,  indecent  ?  I 
am  afraid  some  day  I  shall  break  out  and  do 
some  dreadful  thing,  —  laugh  or  say  something 
shocking,  when  they  try  to  spare  my  feelings. 
Feelings !  when  my  heart  is  as  hard,  this  mo- 
ment, to  everything  but  myself,  myself  !  I  am 
so  sick  of  myself !  But  how  can  I  help  think- 
ing about  myself  when  I  can  never  for  one 
moment  be  myself  ?  " 

"  This  is  something  that  goes  deeper,"  said 
Mr.  Withers.  "  I  confess  it  is  difficult  for  me 
to  follow  you  here ;  to  understand  how  a  love 
as  meek  as  that  of  the  dead,  who  ask  nothing, 
could  lay  such  deadly  weights  upon  a  young 
girl's  life." 

"  Not  his  love  —  mine,  mine !   Is  it  truly  in 


THE  MAID'S  PROGRESS  109 

his  grave  ?  If  it  is  not,  why  do  I  dare  to  pro- 
fess daily  that  it  is,  to  go  on  lying  every  day  ? 
I  want  back  my  word,  that  I  never  gave  to  any 
man.  Can't  one  repent  and  confess  a  false- 
hood ?  And  do  you  call  it  confessing,  when 
all  but  one  person  in  the  world  are  still  de- 
ceived?" 

"It  is  not  easy  for  me  to  advise  you, 
Daphne,"  said  Mr.  Withers  wearily.  "  Your 
struggle  has  discovered  to  me  a  weakness  of 
my  own  :  verily,  an  old  man's  fond  jealousy  for 
the  memory  of  his  son.  Almost  I  could  stoop 
to  entreat  you.  I  do  entreat  you !  So  long  as 
we  defraud  no  one  else,  so  long  as  there  is  no 
living  person  who  might  justly  claim  to  know 
your  heart,  why  rob  my  poor  boy's  grave  of  the 
grace  your  love  bestows,  even  the  semblance 
that  it  was  ?  Let  it  lie  there  like  a  mourning 
wreath,  a  purchased  tribute,  we  will  say,"  the 
father  added,  with  a  smile  of  sad  irony ;  "  but 
only  a  rude  hand  would  rob  him  of  his  funereal 
honors.  There  seems  to  be  an  unnecessary 
harshness  in  this  effort  to  right  yourself  at  the 
cost  of  the  unresisting  dead.  Since  you  did 
not  deny  him  living,  must  you  repudiate  him 
now  ?  Fling  away  even  his  memory,  that  casts 
so  thin  a  shade  upon  your  life,  a  faint  morn- 


110  THE  MAID'S  PROGRESS 

ing  shadow  that  will  shrink  as  your  sun  climbs 
higher.  By  degrees  you  will  be  free.  And, 
speaking  less  selfishly,  would  there  not  be  a 
certain  indelicacy  in  reopening  now  the  ques- 
tion o£  your  past  relations  to  one  whose  name 
is  very  seldom  spoken?  Others  may  not  be 
thinking  so  much  of  your  loss  —  your  sup- 
posed loss,"  the  old  gentleman  conscientiously 
supplied  —  "  as  your  sensitiveness  leads  you 
to  imagine.  But  you  will  give  occasion  for 
thinking  and  for  talking  if  you  tear  open  now 
your  girlhood's  secrets.  Whom  does  it  concern, 
my  dear,  to  know  where  or  how  your  heart  is 
bestowed?" 

Daphne's  cheeks  and  brow  were  burning  hot ; 
even  her  little  ears  were  scarlet.  Her  eyes  filled 
and  drooped.  "  It  is  only  right,"  she  owned. 
"  It  is  my  natural  punishment." 

"No,  no;  I  would  not  punish  nor  judge 
you.  I  love  you  too  well.  But  I  know  better 
than  you  can  what  a  safeguard  this  wih1  be, — 
this  disguise  which  is  no  longer  a  deception, 
since  the  one  it  was  meant  to  deceive  knows  all 
and  forgives  it.  It  will  rebuke  the  bold  and 
hasty  pretenders  to  a  treasure  you  cannot  safely 
part  with,  even  by  your  own  gif t,  as  yet.  You 
are  still  very  young  in  some  ways,  my  dear." 


THE  MAID'S  PROGRESS  111 

"I  am  old  enough,"  said  Daphne,  "to  have 
learned  one  fearful  lesson." 

"  Do  I  oppress  you  with  my  view  ?  Do  I 
insist  too  much  ?  " 

Perhaps  nothing  could  have  lowered  the 
girl  in  her  own  eyes  more  than  this  humility 
of  the  gentle  old  man  in  the  face  of  his  own 
self -exposed  weakness,  his  pathetic  jealousy  for 
that  self  above  self, — the  child  one  can  do 
no  more  than  grieve  for  this  side  the  grave. 
She  had  come  to  herself  only  to  face  the  con- 
sciousness of  a  secret  motive  which  robbed  her 
confession  of  all  moral  value.  Repentance, 
that  would  annul  her  base  bargain  now  that 
the  costs  began  to  outweigh  the  advantages, 
was  gilt  edged,  was  a  luxury  ;  she  was  ashamed 
to  buy  back  her  freedom  on  such  terms. 

"  Let  it  be  as  you  say,"  she  assented ;  "  but 
only  because  you  ask  it.  It  will  not  be  wrong, 
will  it,  if  I  do  it  for  you  ?  " 

"  I  hope  not,"  returned  Mr.  Withers.  "  The 
motive,  in  a  silence  of  this  kind  that  can  harm 
no  one,  must  make  a  difference,  I  should 
say." 

So  it  was  settled ;  and  Daphne  felt  the 
weight  of  her  promise,  which  the  irony  of 
justice  had  fastened  upon  her,  as  a  millstone 


112  THE  MAID'S  PROGRESS 

round  her  neck  for  life;  she  was  still  young 
enough  to  think  that  whatever  is  must  last  for- 
ever. They  sat  in  silence,  but  neither  felt  that 
the  other  was  satisfied.  Mr.  Withers  knew 
that  Daphne  was  not  lightened  of  her  trouble, 
nor  was  he  in  his  heart  content  with  the  point 
he  had  gained.  The  unwonted  touch  of  self- 
assertion  it  had  called  for  rested  uneasily  on 
him ;  and  he  could  not  but  own  that  he  had 
made  himself  Daphne's  apologist,  which  no 
confessor  ought  to  be,  in  this  disguise  by 
which  he  named  the  deception  he  was  now 
helping  her  to  maintain. 

After  a  time,  when  Daphne  had  called  his 
attention  to  the  fact,  he  agreed  that  it  was  in- 
deed strange  their  companions  did  not  return ; 
they  had  been  gone  an  hour  or  more  to  find  a 
spring  said  to  be  not  half  a  mile  away. 

Daphne  proposed  to  climb  the  grade  and 
see  if  they  were  yet  in  sight,  Mr.  Withers 
consenting.  Indeed,  under  the  stress  of  his 
thoughts,  her  absence  was  a  sensible  relief. 

From  the  hilltop  looking  down  she  could 
see  the  way  they  had  gone;  the  crooked 
gulch,  a  garment's  crease  in  the  great  lap  of 
the  table-land,  sinking  to  the  river.  She  saw 
no  one,  heard  no  sound  but  the  senseless 


THE  MAID'S  PROGRESS  113 

hurry  and  bluster  of  the  winds,  —  coming 
from  no  one  knew  where,  going  none  cared 
whither.  It  blew  a  gale  in  the  bright  sunlight, 
mocking  her  efforts  to  listen.  She  waved  her 
hand  to  her  uncle's  lone  figure  in  the  hollow, 
to  signify  that  she  was  going  down  on  the 
other  side.  He  assented,  supposing  she  had 
seen  their  fellow  travelers  returning. 

She  had  been  out  of  sight  some  moments, 
long  enough  for  Mr.  Withers  to  have  lapsed 
into  his  habit  of  absent  musing,  when  Thane 
came  rattling  down  the  slope  of  the  opposite 
hill,  surprised  to  see  the  old  gentleman  alone. 
His  long,  black  eyes  went  searching  every- 
where while  he  reported  a  fruitless  quest  for 
the  spring.  Kinney  and  he  had  followed  the 
gulch,  which  showed  nowhere  a  vestige  of  wa- 
ter, save  in  the  path  of  the  spring  freshets, 
until  they  had  come  in  sight  of  the  river ;  and 
Kinney  had  taken  the  horses  on  down  to 
drink,  riding  one  and  leading  the  other.  It 
would  be  nearly  three  miles  to  the  river  from 
where  Thane  had  left  him,  but  that  was  where 
all  the  deceptive  cattle  trails  were  tending. 
Thane,  returning,  had  made  a  loop  of  his 
track  around  the  hollow,  but  had  failed  to 
round  up  any  spring.  Hence,  as  he  informed 


114  THE  MAID'S  PROGRESS 

Mr.  Withers,  this  could  not  be  Pilgrim  Station. 
He  made  no  attempt  to  express  his  chagrin  at 
this  cruel  and  unseemly  blunder.  The  old 
gentleman  accepted  it  with  his  usual  uncom- 
plaining deference  to  circumstances ;  still,  it 
was  jarring  to  nerves  overstrained  and  bruised 
by  the  home  thrust  of  Daphne's  defection. 
He  fell  silent  and  drew  within  himself,  not 
reproachfully,  but  sensitively.  Thane  rightly 
surmised  that  no  second  invocation  would  be 
offered  when  they  should  come  to  the  true 
Pilgrim  Station;  the  old  gentleman  would 
keep  his  threnodies  to  himself  after  this. 

It  would  have  been  noticeable  to  any  less 
celestial-minded  observer  than  Mr.  Withers 
the  diffidence  with  which  Thane,  in  asking 
after  Miss  Daphne  Lewis,  pronounced  that 
young  person's  name.  He  did  not  wait  for 
the  old  gentleman  to  finish  his  explanation  of 
her  absence,  but  having  learned  the  way  she 
had  gone,  dropped  himself  at  a  great  pace 
down  the  gulch  and  came  upon  her  unawares, 
where  she  had  been  sitting,  overcome  by 
nameless  fears  and  a  creeping  horror  of  the 
place.  She  started  to  her  feet,  for  Thane's 
was  no  furtive  tread  that  crashed  through  the 
thorny  greasewood  and  planted  itself,  a  yard 


THE  MAID'S  PROGRESS  115 

at  a  bound,  amongst  the  stones.  The  horror 
vanished  and  a  flush  of  life,  a  light  of  joy, 
returned  to  her  speaking  face.  He  had  never 
seen  her  so  completely  off  her  guard.  He 
checked  himself  suddenly  and  caught  his  hat 
from  his  head ;  and  without  thinking,  before 
he  replaced  it,  he  drew  the  back  of  his  soft 
leather  glove  across  his  dripping  forehead. 
The  unconventional  action  touched  her 
keenly.  She  was  sensitively  subject  to  outward 
impressions,  and  "  the  plastic  "  had  long  been 
her  delight,  her  ambition,  and  her  despair. 

"  Oh,  if  I  could  only  have  done  something 
simple  like  that ! "  the  defeated,  unsatisfied 
artist  soul  within  her  cried.  "  That  free, 
arrested  stride,  how  splendid !  and  the  hat 
crumpled  in  his  hand,  and  his  bare  head  and 
strong  brows  in  the  sunlight,  and  the  damp 
points  of  hair  clinging  to  his  temples  !  No,  he 
is  not  bald,  —  that  was  only  a  tonsure  of  white 
light  on  the  top  of  his  head ;  still,  he  must 
be  hard  on  forty.  It  is  the  end  of  summer 
with  him,  too ;  and  here  he  comes  for  water, 
thirsting,  to  satisfy  himself  where  water  was 
plentiful  in  spring,  and  he  finds  a  dry  bed  of 
stones.  Call  it  The  End  of  Summer;  it  is 
enough.  Ah,  if  I  could  ever  have  thought  out 


116  THE  MAID'S  PROGRESS 

an  action  as  simple  and  direct  as  that  —  and 
drawn  it !  But  how  can  one  draw  what  one 
has  never  seen  !  " 

Not  all  this,  but  something  else,  something 
more  that  Daphne  could  not  have  put  into 
words,  spoke  in  the  look  which  Thane  sur- 
prised. It  was  but  a  flash  between  long  lashes 
that  fell  instantly  and  put  it  out;  but  no 
woman  whose  heart  was  in  the  grave  ever 
looked  at  a  living  man  in  that  way,  and  the 
living  man  could  not  help  but  know  it.  It 
took  away  his  self-possession  for  a  moment ; 
he  stood  speechless,  gazing  into  her  face  with 
a  question  in  his  eyes  which  five  minutes  before 
he  would  have  declared  an  insult  to  her. 

Daphne  struggled  to  regain  her  mask,  but 
the  secret  had  escaped :  shameless  Nature  had 
seized  her  opportunity. 

"  How  did  I  miss  you  ?  "  she  asked  with 
forced  coolness,  as  they  turned  up  the  gulch 
together.  For  the  moment  she  had  forgotten 
about  the  spring. 

Thane  briefly  explained  the  mistake  that 
had  been  made,  adding,  "  You  will  have  to 
put  up  with  another  day  of  us,  now,  —  per- 
haps two." 

"  And  where  do  you  leave  us,  then  ? " 
asked  Daphne  stupidly. 


THE  MAID'S  PROGRESS  117 

"  At  the  same  place,  —  Decker's  Ferry,  you 
know."  He  smiled,  indulgent  to  her  crass 
ignorance  of  roads  and  localities.  "  Only  we 
shall  be  a  day  longer  getting  there.  We  are 
still  on  the  south  side  of  the  river,  you  re- 
member ?  " 

"  Oh,  of  course ! "  said  Daphne,  who  re- 
membered nothing  of  the  kind. 

"  It  was  a  brutal  fake,  our  springing  this 
place  on  you  for  Pilgrim  Station,"  he  mur- 
mured. 

"  It  has  all  been  a  mistake,  —  our  coming, 
I  mean  ;  at  least  I  think  so." 

It  was  some  comfort  to  Thane  to  hear  her 
say  it,  —  he  had  been  so  forcibly  of  that  opin- 
ion himself  all  along ;  but  he  allowed  the  ad- 
mission to  pass. 

"It  must  have  been  a  hard  journey  for 
you,"  he  exerted  himself  to  say,  speaking  in  a 
surface  voice,  while  his  thoughts  were  sinking 
test-pits  through  layers  of  crusted  conscious- 
ness into  depths  of  fiery  nature  underneath. 

She  answered  in  the  same  perfunctory  way : 
"  You  have  been  very  kind ;  uncle  has  de- 
pended on  you  so  much.  Your  advice  and 
help  have  been  everything  to  him." 

He   took   her   up   with   needless   probity: 


118  THE  MAID'S  PROGRESS 

"  Whatever  you  do,  don't  thank  me  !  It 's  bad 
enough  to  have  Mr.  Withers  heaping  coals 
of  fire  on  my  head.  He  gives  me  the  place 
always,  in  regard  to  his  son,  of  an  intimate 
friend ;  which  I  never  was,  and  God  knows  I 
never  claimed  to  be !  He  took  it  for  granted, 
somehow,  —  perhaps  because  of  my  letters  at 
first,  though  any  brute  would  have  done  as 
much  at  a  time  like  that !  Afterwards  I  would 
have  set  him  right,  but  I  was  afraid  of  thrust- 
ing back  the  friendly  imputation  in  his  face. 
He  credits  me  with  having  been  this  and  that 
of  a  godsend  to  his  son,  when  as  a  fact  we 
parted,  that  last  time,  not  even  good  friends. 
Perhaps  you  can  forgive  me  for  saying  it? 
You  see  how  I  am  placed !  " 

This  iron  apology  which  some  late  scruple 
had  ground  out  of  Thane  seemed  to  command 
Daphne's  deepest  attention.  She  gave  it  a 
moment's  silence,  then  she  said,  "  There  is 
nothing  that  hurts  one,  I  think,  like  being 
unable  to  feel  as  people  take  for  granted  one 
must  and  ought  to  feel."  But  her  home 
application  of  it  gave  a  slight  deflection  to 
Thane's  meaning  which  he  firmly  corrected. 

"  I  felt  all  right ;  so  did  he,  I  dare  say,  but 
we  never  let  each  other  know  how  we  felt. 


THE  MAID'S  PROGRESS  119 

Men  don't,  as  a  rule.  Your  uncle  takes  for 
granted  that  I  knew  a  lot  about  him,  —  his 
thoughts  and  feelings  ;  that  we  were  immensely 
sympathetic.  Perhaps  we  were,  but  we  did  n't 
know  it.  We  knew  nothing  of  each  other 
intimately.  He  never  spoke  to  me  of  his  pri- 
vate affairs  but  once,  the  night  before  he 
started.  It  was  at  Wood  River.  Some  of  us 
gave  him  a  little  supper.  Afterwards  we  had 
some  business  to  settle  and  I  was  alone  with  him 
in  his  room.  It  was  then  I  made  my  break  ; 
and  —  well,  it  ended  as  I  say :  we  quarreled. 
It  has  hurt  me  since,  especially  as  I  was 
wrong." 

"  What  can  men  quarrel  about  when  they 
don't  know  each  other  well?  Politics,  per- 
haps ?  "  Daphne  endeavored  to  give  her  words 
a  general  application. 

"  It  was  not  politics  with  us,"  Thane  replied 
curtly.  Changing  the  subject,  he  said,  "I 
wish  you  could  see  the  valley  from  that  hog- 
back over  to  the  west."  He  pointed  towards 
the  spine  of  the  main  divide,  which  they 
would  cross  on  their  next  day's  journey.  "  Will 
you  come  up  there  this  evening  and  take  a 
look  at  the  country  ?  The  wind  will  die  down 
at  sunset,  I  think." 


120  THE  MAID'S  PROGRESS 

There  was  a  studied  commonplaceness  in 
his  manner  ;  his  eyes  avoided  hers. 

"  Thanks ;  I  should  like  to,"  she  answered 
in  the  same  defensive  tone. 

"To  go  back  to  what  we  were  saying/' 
Daphne  began,  when  they  were  seated,  that 
evening,  on  the  hilltop.  All  around  them  the 
view  of  the  world  rose  to  meet  the  sky,  glow- 
ing in  the  west,  purple  in  the  east,  while  the 
pale  planets  shone,  and  below  them  the  river 
glassed  and  gleamed  in  its  crooked  bed.  "  I 
ask  you  seriously,"  she  said.  "  What  was  the 
trouble  between  you  ?  "  Doubtless  she  had  a 
reason  for  asking,  but  it  was  not  the  one  that 
she  proceeded  to  give.  "Had  you  —  have 
you,  perhaps  —  any  claims  in  a  business  way 
against  him?  Because,  if  you  had,  it  would 
be  most  unfair  to  his  father  "  —  The  words 
gave  her  difficulty ;  but  her  meaning,  as 
forced  meanings  are  apt  to  be,  was  more  than 
plain. 

Thane  was  not  deceived :  a  woman  who 
yields  to  curiosity,  under  however  pious  an  ex- 
cuse, is,  to  say  the  least,  normal.  Her  thoughts 
are  neither  in  the  heavens  above  nor  in  the 
grave  beneath.  His  black  eyes  flashed  with 


THE  MAID'S  PROGRESS  121 

the  provocation  of  the  moment.  It  was  instinct 
that  bade  him  not  to  spare  her. 

"  We  quarreled,"  he  said,  "  in  the  orthodox 
way,  —  about  a  woman." 

"  Indeed !  "  said  Daphne.  "  Then  you  must 
pardon  me." 

"  And  her  name,"  he  continued  calmly. 
"  I  did  not  ask  you  her  name." 
"  Still,  since  we  have  gone  so  far  "  — 
"  There  is  no  need  of  our  going  any  farther." 
"We  may  as  well,  —  a  little  farther.   We 
quarreled,    strangely   enough,  about   you, — 
the  first  time  he  ever  spoke  of  you.   He  would 
not  have  spoken  then,  I  think,  but  he  was  a 
little  excited,  as   well  he  might   have   been. 
Excuse  me  ?  "     He  waited. 

"  Nothing ! "  said  Daphne.  She  had  made 
an  involuntary  protesting  sound. 

"  He  said  he  hoped  to  bring  you  back  with 
him.  I  asked  how  long  since  he  had  seen  you ; 
and  when  he  told  me  five  years,  I  remarked 
that  he  had  better  not  be  too  sure.  '  But  you 
don't  know  her,'  he  said ;  '  she  is  truth  itself, 
and  courage.  By  as  many  times  as  she  has  re- 
fused to  listen  to  me,  I  am  sure  of  her  now/  I 
did  not  gather  somehow  that  you  were  —  en- 
gaged to  him,  else  I  hope  I  should  not  have 


122  THE  MAID'S  PROGRESS 

gone  so  far.  As  it  was,  I  kept  on  persisting 
—  like  a  cynic  who  has  no  one  of  his  own  to  be 
sure  of  —  that  he  had  hetter  not  be  too  sure  ! 
He  might  have  seen,  I  thought  then,  that  it 
was  half  chaff  and  half  envy  with  me ;  but  it 
was  a  nervous  time,  and  I  was  less  than  sym- 
pathetic, less  than  a  friend  to  him.  And  now 
I  am  loaded  with  friendship's  honors,  and  you 
have  come  yourself  to  prove  me  in  the  wrong. 
You  punish  me  by  converting  me  to  the  truth." 

"  What  truth  ?  "  asked  Daphne,  so  low  that 
Thane  had  to  guess  her  question. 

"  Have  you  not  proved  to  me  that  some 
women  do  have  memories  ?  " 

Daphne  could  not  meet  his  eyes ;  but  she 
suspected  him  of  something  like  sarcasm.  She 
could  not  be  sure,  for  his  tone  was  agitating  in 
its  tenderness. 

"All  things  considered,"  she  said  slowly, 
"  does  it  not  strike  you  as  rather  a  costly  con- 
version ?  " 

"  I  don't  say  I  was  worth  it,  nor  do  I  see 
just  how  it  benefits  me  personally  to  have 
learned  my  lesson." 

He  rose,  and  stood  where  he  could  look  at 
her,  —  an  unfair  advantage,  for  his  dark  face, 
strong  in  its  immobility,  was  in  silhouette 


THE  MAID'S  PROGRESS  123 

against  the  flush  of  twilight  which  illumined 
hers,  so  transparent  in  its  sensitiveness. 

"  Is  it  not  a  good  thing  to  believe,  on  any 
terms?  "  she  tried  to  answer  lightly. 

"  For  some  persons,  perhaps.  But  my  hopes, 
if  I  had  any,  would  lie  in  the  direction  of  dis- 
belief." 

"  Disbelief  ?  "  she  repeated  confusedly.  His 
keen  eyes  beat  hers  down. 

"  In  woman's  memory,  constancy,  —  her 
constancy  in  youth,  say  ?  I  am  not  talking  of 
seasoned  timber.  I  don't  deserve  to  be  happy, 
you  see,  and  I  look  for  no  more  than  my  de- 
serts." 

If  he  were  mocking  her  now,  only  to  test 
her !  And  if  she  should  answer  with  a  humble, 
blissful  disclaimer  ?  But  she  answered  nothing, 
disclaimed  nothing;  suffered  his  suspicion, — 
his  contempt,  perhaps,  for  she  felt  that  he  read 
her  through  and  through. 

A  widow  is  well,  and  a  maid  is  well;  but  a 
maiden  widow  who  trembles  and  looks  down 
—  in  God's  creation,  what  is  she  ? 

On  the  north  side  of  the  Snake,  after  climb- 
ing out  of  the  canon  at  Decker's  Ferry,  the 
cross-roads  branch  as  per  sign-post:  "Thirty 


124  THE  MAID'S  PROGRESS 

miles  to  Shoshone  Falls,  one  mile  to  Decker's 
Ferry.  Good  road."  This  last  assertion  must 
be  true,  as  we  have  it  on  no  less  authority 
than  that  of  Decker  himself.  Nothing  is  said 
of  the  road  to  Bliss,  —  not  even  that  there  is 
such  a  Bliss  only  sixteen  miles  away.  Being 
a  station  on  the  Oregon  Short  Line,  Bliss  can 
take  care  of  itself. 

At  these  cross-roads,  on  a  bright,  windy 
September  morning,  our  travelers  had  halted 
for  reasons,  the  chief  of  which  was  to  say 
good-by.  They  had  slept  over  night  at  the 
ferry,  parted  their  baggage  in  the  morning, 
and  now  in  separate  wagons  by  divergent 
roads  were  setting  forth  on  the  last  stage  of 
their  journey. 

Daphne  had  left  some  necessary  of  her  toilet 
at  the  ferry,  and  the  driver  of  Mr.  Withers's 
team  had  gone  back  to  ask  the  people  at  the 
ferry-house  to  find  it.  This  was  the  cause  of 
their  waiting  at  the  cross-roads.  Mr.  Withers 
and  Daphne  were  on  their  devoted  way  like 
conscientious  tourists,  though  both  were  deadly 
weary,  to  prostrate  themselves  before  the  stu- 
pendous beauty  of  the  great  lone  falls  at 
Shoshone.  Thane,  with  Kinney's  team,  was 
prosaically  bound  down  the  river  to  examine 


THE  MAID'S  PROGRESS  125 

and  report  on  a  placer-mine.  But  before  his 
business  would  be  finished  Mr.  Withers  and 
his  niece  would  have  returned  by  railroad  via 
Bliss  to  Boise,  and  have  left  that  city  for 
the  East;  so  this  was  likely  to  be  a  long 
good-by. 

If  any  thing  could  have  come  of  Mr.  Withers's 
project  of  a  memorial  fountain  at  Pilgrim 
Station,  there  might  have  been  a  future  to  the 
acquaintance,  for  Thane  was  to  have  had  charge 
of  the  execution  of  the  design  ;  but  nature  had 
lightly  frustrated  that  fond,  beneficent  dream. 

Mr.  Kinney  had  offered  the  practical  sug- 
gestion that  the  road  should  go  to  the  foun- 
tain, since  the  fountain  could  not  come  to  the 
road.  Its  course  was  a  mere  accident  of  the 
way  the  first  wagon-wheels  had  gone.  The 
wheels  were  few  now,  and  with  such  an  in- 
ducement might  well  afford  to  cross  the 
gulch  in  a  new  place  lower  down.  But  Mr. 
Withers  would  have  none  of  this  dislocation 
of  the  unities.  There  was  but  one  place  — 
the  dismal  hollow  itself,  the  scene  of  his 
heart's  tragedy  —  where  his  acknowledgment 
to  God  should  stand ;  his  mute  "  Thy  will  be 
done ! " 

Perhaps    the   whole    conception    had   lost 


126  THE  MAID'S  PROGRESS 

something  of  its  hold  on  his  mind  by  contact 
with  such  harsh  realities  as  Daphne's  disa- 
vowals and  his  own  consequent  struggle  with 
a  father's  weakness.  He  had  not  in  his  in- 
most conscience  quite  done  with  that  question 
yet. 

Thane  was  touched  by  the  meekness  with 
which  the  old  gentleman  resigned  his  dream. 
The  journey,  he  suspected,  had  been  a  dis- 
appointment in  other  ways,  —  had  failed  in 
impressiveness,  in  personal  significance ;  had 
fallen  at  times  below  the  level  of  the  occasion, 
at  others  had  overpowered  it  and  swept  it  out 
of  sight.  Thane  could  have  told  him  that  it 
must  be  so.  There  was  room  for  too  many 
mourners  in  that  primeval  waste.  Whose  small 
special  grief  could  make  itself  heard  in  that 
vast  arid  silence,  the  voice  of  which  was  God  ? 
God  in  nature,  awful,  inscrutable,  alone,  had 
gained  a  new  meaning  for  Mr.  Withers.  Miles 
of  desert,  days  of  desert,  like  waves  of  brute 
oblivion  had  swept  over  him.  Never  before 
had  he  felt  the  oppression  of  purely  natural 
causes,  the  force  of  the  physical  in  conflict 
with  the  spiritual  law.  And  now  he  was  to 
submit  to  a  final  illustration  of  it,  perhaps  the 
simplest  and  most  natural  one  of  all. 


THE  MAID'S  PROGRESS  127 

Daphne  was  seated  at  a  little  distance  on 
her  camp-stool,  making  a  drawing  of  the  desert 
cross-roads  with  the  twin  sign-posts  pointing 
separate  ways,  as  an  appropriate  finish  to  her 
Snake  River  sketch-book.  The  sun  was  tre- 
mendous, the  usual  Snake  River  zephyr  was 
blowing  forty  miles  an  hour,  and  the  flinty 
ground  refused  to  take  the  brass-shod  point 
of  her  umbrella-staff.  Mr.  Kinney,  therefore, 
sat  beside  her,  gallantly  steadying  her  heavy 
sketching-umbrella  against  the  wind. 

Mr.  Withers,  while  awaiting  the  return  of 
his  own  team  from  the  ferry,  had  accepted  a 
seat  in  Thane's  wagon.  (It  was  a  bag  contain- 
ing a  curling-iron,  lamp,  and  other  implements 
appertaining  to  "  wimples  and  crisping-pins," 
that  Daphne  had  forgotten,  but  she  had  not 
described  its  contents.  One  bag  is  as  innocent 
as  another,  on  the  outside  j  it  might  have  held 
her  Prayer  Book.) 

Thane  was  metaphorically  "kicking  him- 
self "  because  time  was  passing  and  he  could 
not  find  words  delicate  enough  in  which  to 
clothe  an  indelicate  request, —  one  outrageous 
in  its  present  connection,  yet  from  some  points 
of  view,  definitively  his  own,  a  most  urgent 
and  natural  one. 


128  THE  MAID'S  PROGRESS 

"  For  one  shall  grasp,  and  one  resign, 
And  God  shall  make  the  balance  good." 

To  grasp  is  a  simple  act  enough ;  but  to 
do  so  delicately,  reverently,  without  forcing 
one's  preferences  on  those  of  another,  may  not 
always  be  so  simple.  Thane  was  not  a  Goth 
nor  a  Vandal ;  by  choice  he  would  have  sought 
to  preserve  the  amenities  of  life ;  but  a  meek 
man  he  was  not,  and  the  thing  he  now  desired 
was,  he  considered,  well  worth  the  sacrifice  of 
such  small  pretensions  as  his  in  the  direction 
of  unselfishness. 

The  founding  of  a  family  in  its  earliest 
stages  is  essentially  an  egoistic  and  ungener- 
ous proceeding.  Even  Mr.  Withers  must  have 
been  self-seeking  once  or  twice  in  his  life,  else 
had  he  never  had  a  son  to  mourn.  So,  since 
life  in  this  world  is  for  the  living,  and  his  own 
life  was  likely  to  go  on  many  years  after  Mr. 
Withers  had  been  gathered  to  the  reward  of 
the  righteous,  Thane  worked  himself  up  to 
the  grasping-point  at  last. 

He  was  never  able  to  reflect  with  any  pride 
on  the  way  in  which  he  did  it,  and  perhaps  it 
is  hardly  fair  to  report  him  in  a  conversation 
that  would  have  had  its  difficulties  for  almost 
any  man ;  but  his  way  of  putting  his  case  was 


THE  MAID'S  PROGRESS  129 

something  like  the  following,  —  Mr.  Withers 
guilelessly  opening  the  way  by  asking,  "  You 
will  be  coming  East,  I  hope,  before  long,  Mr. 
Thane?" 

"  Possibly,"  said  Thane,  "  I  may  run  on  to 
New  York  next  winter." 

"  If  you  should,  I  trust  you  will  find  time 
to  come  a  little  further  East  and  visit  me?  I 
could  add  my  niece's  invitation  to  my  own, 
but  she  and  her  mother  will  probably  have 
gone  South  for  her  mother's  health.  However, 
I  will  welcome  you  for  us  both,  —  I  and  my 
books,  which  are  all  my  household  now." 

"  Thanks,  sir,  I  should  be  very  glad  to 
come ;  though  your  books,  I  'm  afraid,  are  the 
sort  that  would  not  have  much  to  say  to  me." 

"  Come  and  see,  come  and  see,"  Mr.  Withers 
pressed  him  warmly.  "  A  ripe  fareweU  should 
always  hold  the  seeds  of  a  future  meeting." 

"  That  is  very  kindly  said,"  Thane  responded 
quickly ;  "  and  if  you  don't  mind,  I  will  plant 
one  of  those  seeds  right  now." 

"  So  do,  so  do,"  the  old  gentleman  urged 
unsuspiciously. 

"  Your  niece  " —  Thane  began,  but  could 
see  his  way  no  further  in  that  direction  with- 
out too  much  precipitancy.  Then  he  backed 


130  THE  MAID'S  PROGRESS 

down  on  a  line  of  argument,  —  "I  need  not 
point  out  the  fact,"  etc., —  and  abandoned  that 
as  beset  with  too  many  pitfalls  of  logic,  for 
one  of  his  limited  powers  of  analysis.  Fewest 
words  and  simplest  would  serve  him  best.  "  It 
is  hardly  likely,"  then  he  said,  "that  your 
niece's  present  state  of  feeling  will  be  respected 
as  long  as  it  lasts ;  there  will  be  others  with 
feelings  of  their  own.  Her  loss  will  hardly 
protect  her  all  her  life  from — she  will  have 
suitors,  of  course !  Nature  is  a  brute,  and 
most  men,  young  men,  are  natural  in  that 
respect,  —  in  regard  to  women,  I  mean.  I 
don't  want  to  be  the  first  fool  who  rushes  in, 
but  there  will  be  a  first.  When  he  arrives, 
sir,  will  you  let  me  know  ?  If  any  man  is  to 
be  heard,  I  claim  the  right  to  speak  to  her 
myself ;  the  right,  you  understand,  of  one  who 
loves  her,  who  will  make  any  sacrifice  on  earth 
to  win  her." 

Mr.  Withers  remained  silent.  He  had  a 
sense  of  suffocation,  as  of  waves  of  heat  and 
darkness  going  over  him.  The  wind  sang  in 
his  ears,  shouted  and  hooted  at  him.  He  was 
stunned.  Presently  he  gasped,  "  Mr.  Thane ! 
you  have  not  surely  profaned  this  solemn  jour- 
ney with  such  thoughts  as  these  ?  " 


THE  MAID'S  PROGRESS  131 

"  A  man  cannot  always  help  his  thoughts, 
Mr.  Withers.  I  have  not  profaned  my  thoughts 
by  putting  them  into  words,  till  now.  I  can- 
not do  them  justice,  but  I  have  made  them 
plain.  This  is  not  a  question  of  taste  or  pro- 
priety with  me,  or  even  decency.  It  is  my 
life, — all  of  it  I  shall  ever  place  at  the  disposal 
of  any  woman.  I  am  not  a  boy ;  I  know  what 
I  want  and  how  much  I  want  it.  The  secret 
of  success  is  to  be  in  the  right  place  at  the 
right  time :  here  is  where  I  ask  your  help." 

"  I  do  not  question  that  you  know  what  you 
want,"  said  Mr.  Withers  mildly,  —  "it  is  quite 
a  characteristic  of  the  men  of  this  region,  I 
infer,  —  nor  do  I  deny  that  you  may  know  the 
way  of  success  in  getting  it ;  but  that  I  should 
open  the  door  to  you  —  be  your  —  I  might  say 
accomplice,  in  this  design  upon  the  affections 
of  my  niece  —  "why,  I  don't  know  how  it  strikes 
you,  but" — 

"  It  strikes  me  precisely  as  it  does  you,  — 
my  part  of  it,"  said  Thane  impatiently.  "  But 
her  part  is  different,  as  I  see  it.  If  she  were 
sick,  you  would  not  put  off  the  day  of  her  re- 
covery because  neither  you  nor  yours  could 
cure  her  ?  Whoever  can  make  her  forget  this 
shipwreck  of  her  youth,  heal  her  unhappiness, 


132  THE  MAID'S  PROGRESS 

let  him  do  so.  Isn't  that  right?  Give  him 
the  chance  to  try.  A  man's  power  in  these 
things  does  not  lie  in  his  deserts.  All  I  ask 
is,  when  other  men  come  forward  I  want  the 
same  privilege.  But  I  shall  not  be  on  the 
ground.  When  that  time  comes,  sir,  will  you 
remember  me  ?  " 

For  once  Mr.  Withers  seized  the  occasion 
for  a  retort ;  he  advanced  upon  the  enemy's 
exposed  position.  "Yes,  Mr.  Thane,  I  will 
remember  you,  —  better  than  you  remember 
your  friends  when  they  are  gone." 

Thane  accepted  the  reproach  as  meekly  as 
if  his  friendship  for  John  Withers  had  been 
of  the  indubitable  stuff  originally  that  Mr. 
Withers  had  credited  him  with.  He  rather 
welcomed  than  otherwise  an  unmerited  rebuke 
from  that  long-suffering  quarter. 

But  though  Thane  was  silenced  as  well  as 
answered,  there  was  conscience  yet  to  deal 
with.  Mr.  Withers  sat  and  meditated  sorely, 
while  the  wind  buffeted  his  gray  hairs.  Con- 
science demanded  that  he  give  up  the  secret 
of  Daphne's  false  mourning,  which  he  would 
have  defended  with  his  life.  "  A  silence  that 
can  harm  no  one."  "  So  long  as  we  defraud 
no  living  person  who  might  claim  a  right  to 


THE  MAID'S  PROGRESS  133 

know  your  heart."  The  condition  was  plain ; 
it  provided  for  just  such  cases  as  the  present. 
Then  how  could  he  hesitate  ?  But  he  was  hu- 
man, and  he  did. 

"  I  have  gone  too  far,  I  see.  Well,  say  no 
more  about  it,"  said  Thane.  "  Your  generosity 
tempted  me.  From  those  who  give  easily  much 
shall  be  asked.  Forget  it,  sir,  please.  I  will 
look  out  for  myself,  or  lose  her," 

"  Stop  a  bit !  "  exclaimed  Mr.  Withers.  He 
turned  to  Thane,  placing  his  hand  above  his 
faded  eyes  to  shade  them  from  the  glare,  and 
looked  his  companion  earnestly  in  the  face. 
Thane  sought  for  an  umbrella,  and  raised  it 
over  the  old  gentleman's  head ;  it  was  not  an 
easy  thing  to  hold  it  steady  in  that  wind. 

"  Thanks,  thanks  !  Now  I  can  look  at  you. 
Yes,  I  can  look  you  in  the  eye,  in  more  senses 
than  one.  Listen  to  me,  Mr.  Thane,  and  don't 
mind  if  I  am  not  very  lucid.  In  speaking  of 
the  affairs  of  another,  and  a  young  woman,  I 
can  only  deal  in  outlines.  You  will  be  able  to 
surmise  and  hope  the  rest.  I  feel  in  duty 
bound  to  tell  you  that  at  the  time  of  my  son's 
death  there  was  a  misunderstanding  on  my 
part  which  forced  Miss  Lewis  into  a  false  posi- 
tion in  respect  to  her  relations  to  my  son.  Too 


134  THE  MAID'S  PROGRESS 

much  was  assumed  by  me  on  insufficient  evi- 
dence, —  a  case  where  the  wish,  perhaps,  was 
father  to  the  thought.  She  hesitated  at  that 
sore  time  to  rob  me  of  an  illusion  which  she 
saw  was  precious  to  me;  she  allowed  me  to 
retain  my  erroneous  belief  that  my  son,  had 
he  lived,  would  have  enjoyed  the  blessing  of 
her  affection.  As  a  fact,  she  had  not  given  it 
to  him,  —  could  not  have  given  it,  —  though 
she  owns  that  her  mind,  not  her  heart,  was 
wavering.  Had  she  married  him,  other  motives 
than  love  would  have  influenced  her  choice. 
So  death  has  saved  my  dear  boy  from  a  cruel 
disappointment  or  a  worse  mistake,  and  her 
from  a  great  danger.  Had  he  lived,  he  must 
have  had  many  hours  of  wretchedness,  either 
with  or  without  that  dearest  wish  of  his  heart 
fulfilled. 

"  This  she  confessed  to  me  not  many  days 
ago,  after  a  long  period  of  remorseful  ques- 
tioning ;  and  I  deem  it  my  duty  now,  in  view 
of  what  you  have  just  told  me,  to  acquaint  you 
with  the  truth.  I  am  the  only  one  who  knows 
that  she  was  not  engaged  to  my  son,  and  never 
really  loved  him.  The  fact  cut  me  so  deeply, 
when  I  learned  it  first,  that  I  persuaded  her, 
most  selfishly,  to  continue  in  the  disguise  she 


THE  MAID'S  PROGRESS  135 

had  permitted,  sustained  so  long, —  to  rest  in 
it,  that  my  boy's  memory  might  be  honored 
through  this  sacrifice  of  the  truth.  Weak, 
fond  old  man  that  I  was,  and  worse  !  But  now 
you  have  my  confession.  As  soon  as  I  can 
speak  with  her  alone  I  will  release  her  from 
that  promise.  She  was  fain  to  be  free  before 
all  the  world,  —  our  little  part  of  it,  —  but  I 
fastened  it  on  her.  I  see  now  that  I  could  not 
have  invented  a  crueler  punishment;  but  it 
was  never  my  purpose  to  punish  her.  I  will 
also  tell  her  that  I  have  opened  the  true  state 
of  the  case  to  you." 

"Would  you  not  stop  just  short  of  that, 
Mr.  Withers  ?  To  know  she  is  free  to  listen 
to  him,  —  that  is  all  any  man  could  ask." 

"  Perhaps  you  are  right ;  yes,  she  need  not 
know  that  I  have  possessed  you  with  her  se- 
cret, —  all  of  it  that  has  any  bearing  on  your 
hopes.  I  only  thought  it  might  save  you,  in 
her  mind,  from  any  possible  imputation  of  — 
of  want  of  respect  for  her  supposed  condition, 
akin  to  widowhood;  but  no  doubt  you  will 
wait  a  suitable  time." 

"  I  will  wait  till  we  meet  in  Boise." 

"  In  Boise ! "  the  old  gentleman  cried,  aghast. 
That  will  be  three  days  from  now,"  an- 


-. 


136  THE  MAID'S  PROGRESS 

swered  Thane  innocently.  Did  Mr.  Withers 
imagine  that  he  would  wait  three  years ! 

"But  what  becomes  of  the  —  the  placer- 
mine?" 

"  The  placer-mine  be  —  the  placer-mine  will 
keep !  She  is  shutting  up  her  book ;  the  sketch 
is  finished.  Will  you  hold  the  umbrella,  sir, 
or  shall  I  put  it  down  ?  " 

Mr.  Withers  took  hold  of  the  umbrella  han- 
dle; the  wind  shook  it  and  nearly  tugged  it  out 
of  his  grasp.  "  Put  it  down,  if  you  please," 
he  murmured  resignedly.  But  by  this  time 
Thane  was  half  across  the  road  to  where 
Daphne,  with  penknife  and  finger-tips,  was 
trying  to  strip  the  top  layer  of  blackened 
sandpaper  from  her  pencil-scrubber ;  turning 
her  face  aside,  because,  woman-like,  she  would 
insist  on  casting  her  pencil-dust  to  wind- 
ward. 

Thane  smiled,  and  took  the  scrubber  out  of 
her  hands,  threw  away  the  soiled  sheet,  sealed 
up  the  pad  in  a  clean  stamped  envelope,  which 
bore  across  the  end  the  legend,  "  If  not  deliv- 
ered within  ten  days,  return  to"  —  "Robert 
Henry  Thane,"  he  wrote,  with  his  address,  and 
gave  her  back  her  property.  It  was  all  very 
childish,  yet  his  hand  trembled  as  he  wrote ; 


THE  MAID'S  PROGRESS  137 

and  Daphne  looked  on  with  the  solemnity  of 
a  child  learning  a  new  game. 

"  May  I  see  the  sketch  ?  "  he  asked. 

They  hent  together  over  her  book,  while 
Daphne  endeavored  to  find  the  place;  the 
wind  fluttered  the  leaves,  and  she  was  so  long 
in  finding  it  that  Mr.  Kinney  had  time  to  pack 
up  her  stool  and  umbrella,  and  cross  the  road 
to  say  good-by  to  Mr.  Withers. 

"  Here  it  is,"  said  Thane,  catching  sight  of 
the  drawing.  He  touched  the  book-holder 
lightly  on  the  arm,  to  turn  her  away  from  the 
sun.  Her  shadow  fell  across  the  open  page ; 
their  backs  were  to  the  wagon.  So  they  stood 
a  full  half-minute,  —  Thane  seeing  nothing, 
hearing  his  heart  beat  preposterously  in  the 
silence. 

"Why  don't  you  praise  my  sign-posts?" 
asked  Daphne  nervously.  "  See  my  beautiful 
distance,  —  one  straight  line ! " 

"I  have  changed  my  plans  a  little,"  said 
Thane.  Daphne  closed  the  book.  "  I  shall  see 
you  again  in  Boise.  This  is  good-by  —  for 
three  days.  Take  care  of  yourself."  He  held 
out  his  hand.  "I  shall  meet  your  train  at 
Bliss." 

"Bliss!   Where  is  Bliss?" 


138  THE  MAID'S  PROGRESS 

"  You  never  could  remember,  could  you  ?  " 
lie  smiled.  The  tone  of  his  voice  was  a  fla- 
grant caress.  The  color  flew  to  Daphne's  face. 
"  Bliss,"  said  he,  "  is  where  I  shall  meet  you 
again :  remember  that,  will  you  ?  " 

Daphne  drew  down  her  veil.  The  man  re- 
turning from  the  ferry  was  in  sight  at  the  top 
of  the  hill.  Mr.  Withers  was  alighting  from 
Thane's  wagon.  She  turned  her  gray  mask 
towards  him,  through  which  he  could  discern 
the  soft  outline  of  her  face,  the  color  of  her 
lips  and  cheeks,  the  darkness  of  her  eyes; 
their  expression  he  could  not  see. 

"  I  shall  meet  you  at  Bliss,"  he  repeated, 
his  fingers  closing  upon  hers. 

Daphne  did  not  reply ;  she  did  not  speak  to 
him  nor  look  at  him  again,  though  it  was  some 
moments  before  the  wagon  started. 

Kinney  and  Thane  remained  at  the  cross- 
roads, discussing  with  some  heat  the  latter's 
unexpected  change  of  plan.  Mr.  Kinney  had 
a  small  interest  in  the  placer-mine,  himself,  but 
it  looked  large  to  him  just  then.  He  put  little 
faith  in  Thane's  urgent  business  (that  no  one 
had  heard  of  till  that  moment)  calling  him  to 
Boise  in  three  days.  Of  what  use  was  it  going 
down  to  the  placers  only  to  turn  round  and 


THE  MAID'S  PROGRESS  139 

come  back  again?  So  Thane  thought,  and 
proposed  they  drive  forward  to  Bliss. 

"  Bliss  be  hanged ! "  said  Mr.  Kinney ; 
which  shows  how  many  ways  there  are  of 
looking  at  the  same  thing. 

Thane's  way  prevailed ;  they  drove  straight 
on  to  Bliss.  And  if  the  placer-mine  was  ever 
reported  on  by  Thane,  it  must  have  been  at  a 
later  time. 


PILGRIMS  TO  MECCA 


PILGRIMS  TO  MECCA 

"  NOTICE  the  girl  on  your  right,  Elsie.  That 
is  the  thing!  You  have  to  see  it  to  under- 
stand. Do  you  understand,  dear?  Do  you 
see  the  difference  ?  " 

A  middle-aged  little  mother,  with  a  sensi- 
tive, care-worn  face,  leaned  across  the  Pullman 
section  and  laid  a  hand  upon  her  daughter's 
by  way  of  emphasis  —  needless,  for  her  voice 
and  manner  conveyed  all,  and  much  more  than 
the  words  could  possibly  carry.  Volumes  of 
argument,  demonstration,  expostulation  were 
implied. 

"  Can  you  see  her  ?  Do  you  see  what  I 
mean?  What,  dear?" 

The  questions  followed  one  another  like 
beads  running  down  a  string.  Elsie's  silence 
was  the  knot  at  t,he  end.  She  opened  her  eyes 
and  turned  them  languidly  as  directed,  but 
without  raising  her  head  from  the  back  of 
the  car-seat. 

"  I  will  look  presently,  mother.  I  can't  see 
much  of  anything  now." 


144  PILGRIMS  TO  MECCA 

"  Oh,  never  mind.  Forgive  me,  dear.  How 
is  your  head  ?  Lie  still ;  don't  try  to  talk." 

Elsie  smiled,  patted  her  mother's  hand,  and 
closed  her  narrow,  sweet,  sleepy  blue  eyes. 
Mrs.  Valentin  never  looked  at  them,  when  her 
mind  was  at  rest,  without  wishing  they  were 
a  trifle  larger  —  wider  open,  rather.  The  eyes 
were  large  enough,  but  the  lazy  lids  shut  them 
in.  They  saw  a  good  deal,  however.  She  also 
wished,  in  moments  of  contemplation,  that  she 
could  have  laid  on  a  little  heavier  the  brush 
that  traced  Elsie's  eyebrows,  and  continued 
them  a  little  longer  at  the  temples.  Then,  her 
upper  lip  was,  if  anything,  the  least  bit  too 
short.  Yet  what  a  sweet,  concentrated  little 
mouth  it  was,  —  reticent  and  pure,  and  not 
over-ready  with  smiles,  though  the  hidden  teeth 
were  small,  flawless,  and  of  baby  whiteness ! 
Yes,  the  mother  sighed,  just  a  touch  or  two, 
—  and  she  knew  just  where  to  put  those 
touches,  —  and  the  girl  had  been  a  beauty.  If 
nature  would  only  consult  the  mothers  at  the 
proper  time,  instead  of  going  on  in  her  blind- 
fold fashion ! 

But,  after  all,  did  they  want  a  beauty  in 
the  family  ?  On  theory,  no  :  the  few  beauties 
Mrs.  Valentin  had  known  in  her  life  had  not 


PILGRIMS  TO  MECCA  145 

been  the  happiest  of  women.  What  they  did 
want  was  an  Elsie  — their  own  Elsie  —  per- 
fectly trained  without  losing  her  naturalness, 
perfectly  educated  without  losing  her  health, 
perfectly  dressed  without  thinking  of  clothes, 
perfectly  accomplished  without  wasting  her 
time,  and,  finally,  an  Elsie  perfectly  happy. 
All  that  parents,  situated  on  the  wrong  side 
of  the  continent  for  art  and  culture,  and  not 
over-burdened  with  money,  could  do  to  that 
end,  Mrs.  Valentin  was  resolved  should  be 
done.  Needless  to  say,  very  little  was  to  be 
left  to  God. 

Mrs.  Valentin  was  born  in  the  East,  some 
forty-odd  years  before  this  educational  pilgrim- 
age began,  of  good  Unitarian  stock,  —  born 
with  a  great  sense  of  personal  accountability. 
She  could  not  have  thrown  it  off  and  been  joy- 
ful in  the  words,  "It  is  He  that  hath  made 
us,  and  not  we  ourselves." 

Elsie  had  got  a  headache  from  the  early  start 
and  the  suppressed  agitation  of  parting  from 
her  home  and  her  father.  Suppression  was  as 
natural  to  her  as  expression  was  to  her  mother. 
The  father  and  daughter  had  held  each  other 
silently  a  moment ;  both  had  smiled,  and  both 
were  ill  for  hours  afterward. 


146  PILGRIMS  TO  MECCA 

But  Mrs.  Valentin  thought  that  in  Elsie's 
case  it  was  because  she  had  not  sent  the  girl 
to  bed  earlier  the  night  before,  and  insisted 
on  her  eating  something  at  breakfast. 

Herself  —  she  had  lain  sleepless  for  the 
greater  part  of  that  night  and  many  nights 
previous.  She  had  anticipated  in  its  difficul- 
ties every  stage  of  the  getting  off,  the  subse- 
quent journey,  the  arrival,  their  reception  by 
Eastern  relatives  not  seen  for  years,  the  intro- 
duction of  her  grown-up  daughter,  the  impres- 
sion she  would  make,  the  beginning  of  life  all 
over  again  in  a  strange  city.  (She  had  known 
her  Boston  once,  but  that  was  twenty  years 
ago.)  She  foresaw  the  mistakes  she  would  in- 
evitably make  in  her  choice  of  means  to  the 
desired  ends  — dressmakers,  doctors,  specialists 
of  all  sorts  ;  the  horrible  way  in  which  school 
expenses  mount  up ;  the  trivial  yet  poignant 
comparisons  of  school  life,  from  which,  if  Elsie 
suffered,  she  would  be  sure  to  suffer  in  silence. 

After  this  fatiguing  mental  rehearsal  she 
had  risen  at  six,  while  the  electric  lights  were 
still  burning  and  the  city  was  cloaked  in  fog. 
It  was  San  Francisco  of  a  midsummer  morn- 
ing ;  fog  whistles  groaning,  sidewalks  slippery 
with  wet,  and  the  gray-green  trees  and  tinted 


PILGRIMS  TO  MECCA  147 

flower-beds  of  the  city  gardens  emerging  like 
the  first  broad  washes  of  a  water-color  laid  in 
with  a  full  brush. 

She  had  taken  a  last  survey  of  her  disman- 
tled home,  given  the  last  directions  to  the  old 
Chinese  servant  left  in  charge,  presided  hag- 
gardly at  the  last  home  breakfast  —  what  a 
ghastly  little  ceremony  it  was !  Then  Mr. 
Valentin  had  gone  across  the  Oakland  ferry 
with  them  and  put  them  aboard  the  train, 
muffled  up  as  for  winter.  They  had  looked 
into  each  other's  pale  faces  and  parted  for  two 
years,  all  for  Elsie's  sake.  But  what  Elsie 
thought  about  it  —  whether  she  understood  or 
cared  for  what  this  sacrifice  of  home  and  trea- 
sure was  to  purchase  —  it  was  impossible  to 
learn.  Still  more  what  her  father  thought. 
What  he  had  always  said  was,  "You  had 
better  go." 

"  But  do  you  truly  think  it  is  the  best 
thing  for  the  child?" 

"I  think  that,  whatever  we  do,  there  will 
be  times  when  we  '11  wish  we  had  done  some- 
thing different ;  and  there  will  be  other  times 
when  we  shall  be  glad  we  did  not.  All  we 
can  do  is  the  best  we  know  up  to  date." 

" But  do  you  think  it  is  the  best? " 


148  PILGRIMS  TO  MECCA 

"I  think,  Emmy,  that  you  will  never  be 
satisfied  until  you  have  tried  it,  and  it 's  worth 
the  money  to  me  to  have  you  feel  that  you 
have  done  your  best." 

Mrs.  Valentin  sighed.  "  Sometimes  I  won- 
der why  we  do  cling  to  that  old  fetich  of  the 
East.  Why  can't  we  accept  the  fact  that  we 
are  Western  people?  The  question  is,  Shall 
we  be  the  self-satisfied  kind  or  the  unsatisfied 
kind  ?  Shall  we  be  contented  and  limited,  or 
discontented  and  grow  ?  " 

"  I  guess  we  shall  be  limited  enough,  either 
way,"  Mr.  Valentin  retorted  easily.  He  had 
no  hankering  for  the  East  and  no  grudge 
against  fate  for  making  him  a  Western  man 
malgre  lui.  "  I  've  known  kickers  who  did  n't 
appear  to  grow  much,  except  to  grow  cranky," 
he  said. 

Up  to  the  moment  of  actual  departure, 
Mrs.  Valentin  had  continued  to  review  her  de- 
cision and  to  agonize  over  its  possibilities  of 
disaster ;  but  now  that  the  journey  had  begun, 
she  was  experiencing  the  rest  of  change  and 
movement.  She  was  as  responsive  as  a  child 
to  fresh  outward  impressions,  and  the  hyper- 
bolical imagination  that  caused  her  such  tor- 
ture when  it  wrought  in  the  dark  hours  on 


PILGRIMS  TO  MECCA  149 

the  teased  fabric  of  her  own  life,  could  give 
her  compensating  pleasures  by  daylight,  on 
the  open  roads  of  the  world.  There  was  as  yet 
nothing  outside  the  car  windows  which  they 
had  not  known  of  old,  —  the  marsh-meadows 
of  the  Lower  Sacramento,  tide-rivers  reflect- 
ing the  sky,  cattle  and  wild  fowl,  with  an 
occasional  windmill  or  a  duck-hunter's  lodge 
breaking  the  long  sweeps  of  low-toned  color. 
The  morning  sun  was  drinking  up  the  fog, 
the  temperature  in  the  Pullman  steadily  rising. 
Jackets  were  coming  off  and  shirt-waists 
blooming  out  in  summer  colors,  giving  the  car 
a  homelike  appearance. 

It  was  a  saying  that  summer,  "By  their 
belts  ye  shall  know  them."  Shirt-waists  no 
longer  counted,  since  the  ready-made  ones  for 
two  dollars  and  a  half  were  almost  as  chic  as 
the  tailor-made  for  ten.  But  the  belts,  the  real 
belts,  were  inimitable.  Sir  Lancelot  might 
have  used  them  for  his  bridle  — 

"  Like  to  some  branch  of  stars  we  see 
Hung  in  the  golden  galaxy." 

Mrs.  Valentin  had  looked  with  distinct  ap- 
proval on  a  mother  and  daughter  who  occu- 
pied the  section  opposite.  Their  impedimenta 
and  belongings  were  "  all  right,"  arguing  per- 


150  PILGRIMS  TO  MECCA 

sons  with  cultivated  tastes,  abroad  for  a  sum- 
mer spent  in  divers  climates,  who  knew  what 
they  should  have  and  where  to  get  it.  A  simi- 
larity of  judgment  on  questions  of  clothes  and 
shops  is  no  doubt  a  bond  between  strange 
women  everywhere ;  but  it  was  the  daugh- 
ter's belt-buckle  before  which  Mrs.  Valentin 
bowed  down  and  humbled  herself  in  silence. 
The  like  of  that  comes  only  by  inheritance 
or  travel.  Antique,  pale  gold  —  Cellini  might 
have  designed  it.  There  was  probably  not  an- 
other buckle  like  that  one  in  existence.  An 
imitation  ?  No  more  than  its  wearer,  a  girl  as 
white  as  a  white  camellia,  with  gray  eyes  and 
thin  black  eyebrows,  and  thick  black  lashes 
that  darkened  the  eyes  all  round.  There  was 
nothing  noticeable  in  her  dress  except  its  fresh- 
ness and  a  certain  finish  in  lesser  details,  under- 
stood by  the  sophisticated.  "  Swell "  was  too 
common  a  word  for  her  supreme  and  dainty 
elegance.  Her  resemblance  to  the  ordinary 
full-fleshed  type  of  Pacific  coast  belle  was  that 
of  a  portrait  by  Romney  —  possibly  engraved 
by  Cole  —  to  a  photograph  of  some  reina  de 
la  fiesta.  This  was  Mrs.  Valentin's  exagger- 
ated way  of  putting  it  to  herself.  Such  a  pas- 
sionate conservative  as  she  was  sure  to  be 
prejudiced. 


PILGRIMS  TO  MECCA  151 

.  The  mother  had  a  more  pronounced  indi- 
viduality, as  mothers  are  apt  to  have,  and 
looked  quite  fit  for  the  ordinary  uses  of  life. 
She  was  of  the  benignant  Roman-nosed  East- 
ern type,  daughter  of  generations  of  philan- 
thropists and  workers  in  the  public  eye  for 
the  public  good ;  a  deep,  rich  voice,  an  air  of 
command,  plain  features,  abundant  gray  hair, 
imported  clothes,  wonderful,  keen,  dark  eyes 
overlapped  by  a  fold  of  the  crumpled  eyelid, — 
a  personage,  a  character,  a  life,  full  of  com- 
plex energies  and  domineering  good  sense. 
With  gold  eye-glasses  astride  her  high-bridged 
nose,  knees  crossed,  one  large,  well-shod  foot 
extended,  this  mother  in  Israel  sat  absorbed 
like  a  man  in  the  daily  paper,  and  wroth  like 
a  man  at  its  contents.  Occasionally  she  would 
emit  an  impatient  protest  in  the  deep,  mater- 
nal tones,  and  the  graceful  daughter  would 
turn  her  head  and  read  over  her  shoulder  in 
silent  assent. 

"  How  trivial,  how  self-centred  we  are ! " 
Mrs.  Valentin  murmured,  leaning  across  to 
claim  a  look  from  Elsie.  "  I  realize  it  the  mo- 
ment we  get  outside  our  own  little  treadmill. 
We  do  nothing  but  take  thought  for  what  we 
ehall  eat  and  drink  and  wherewithal  we  shall 


152  PILGRIMS  TO  MECCA 

be  clothed.  I  have  n't  thought  of  the  country 
once  this  morning.  I  've  been  wondering  if 
all  the  good  summer  things  are  gone  at  Hol- 
lander's. It  may  be  very  hot  in  Boston  the 
first  few  weeks.  You  will  be  wilted  in  your 
cloth  suit." 

"  Oh,  mammy,  mammy !  what  a  mammy !  " 
purred  Elsie,  her  pretty  upper  lip  curling  in 
the  smile  her  mother  loved  —  with  a  reserva- 
tion. Elsie  had  her  father's  sense  of  humor, 
and  had  caught  his  half-caressing  way  of  in- 
dulging it  at  the  "intense"  little  mother's 
expense. 

"  Elsie,"  she  observed,  "  you  know  /  don't 
mind  your  way  of  speaking  to  me,  —  as  if  I 
were  the  girl  of  sixteen  and  you  the  woman 
of  forty,  —  but  I  hope  you  won't  use  it  before 
the  aunts  and  cousins.  I  shall  be  sure  to  lay 
myself  open,  but,  dear,  be  careful.  It  isn't 
very  good  form  to  be  too  amused  with  one's 
mother.  Of  course  there 's  as  much  difference 
in  mothers  as  in  girls,"  Mrs.  Valentin  ac- 
knowledged. "  A  certain  sort  of  temperament 
interferes  with  the  profit  one  ought  to  get  out 
of  one's  experience.  If  you  had  my  tempera- 
ment I  should  n't  waste  this  two  years'  experi- 
ment on  you;  I  should  know  that  nothing 


PILGRIMS  TO  MECCA  153 

could  change  your  —  spots.  But  you  will 
learn  —  everything.  How  is  your  head,  dear 
—  what?"  ' 

Elsie  had  said  nothing;  she  had  not  had 
the  opportunity. 

At  a  flag  station  where  the  train  was  halted 
(this  overland  train  was  a  "  local "  as  far  as 
Sacramento)  Mrs.  Valentin  looked  out  and 
saw  a  colored  man  in  livery  climb  down  from 
the  back  seat  of  a  mail-cart  and  hasten  across 
the  platform  with  a  huge  paper  box.  It  proved 
to  be  filled  with  magnificent  roses,  of  which 
he  was  the  bearer  to  the  ladies  opposite.  A 
glance  at  a  card  was  followed  by  gracious  ac- 
knowledgments, and  the  footman  retired  beam- 
ing. He  watched  the  train  off,  hat  in  hand, 
bowing  to  the  ladies  at  their  window  as  only 
a  well-raised  colored  servant  can  bow. 

"  The  Coudert  place  lies  over  there,"  said 
Mrs.  Valentin,  pointing  to  a  mass  of  dark 
trees  toward  which  the  trap  was  speeding. 
"  They  have  been  staying  there,"  she  whis- 
pered, "  doing  the  west  coast,  I  suppose,  with 
invitations  to  all  the  swell  houses." 

"Is  your  daughter  not  well?"  the  deep 
voice  spoke  across  the  car. 

As  Elsie  could  not  ride  backward,  her  mo- 


154  PILGRIMS  TO  MECCA 

ther,  to  give  her  room,  and  for  the  pleasure  of 
watching  her,  was  seated  with  her  own  back 
to  the  engine,  facing  most  of  the  ladies  in  the 
car. 

"She  is  a  little  train-sick;  she  could  not 
eat  this  morning,  and  that  always  gives  her  a 
headache." 

Elsie  raised  her  eyelashes  in  faint  dissent. 

"  She  should  eat  something,  surely.  Have 
you  tried  malted  milk  ?  I  have  some  of  the 
lozenges;  she  can  take  one  without  raising 
her  head." 

Search  was  made  in  a  distinguished-looking 
bag,  Mrs.  Valentin  protesting  against  the 
trouble,  and  beseeching  Elsie  with  her  eyes 
to  accept  one  from  the  little  silver  box  of  pas- 
tils that  was  passed  across  the  aisle. 

Elsie  said  she  really  could  not  —  thanks 
very  much. 

The  keen,  dark  eyes  surveyed  her  with  the 
look  of  a  general  inspecting  raw  troops,  and 
Mrs.  Valentin  felt  as  depressed  as  the  com- 
pany officer  who  has  been  "  working  up  "  the 
troops.  "Won't  you  try  one,  Elsie?"  she 
pleaded. 

"  I  'd  rather  not,  mother,"  said  Elsie. 

She  did  not  repeat  her  thanks  to  the  great 


PILGRIMS  TO  MECCA  155 

authority,  but  left  her  mother  to  cover  her 
retreat. 

"  The  young  girls  nowadays  do  pretty  much 
as  they  please  about  eating  or  not  eating," 
observed  the  Eastern  matron,  in  her  large,  im- 
personal way.  "  They  can  match  our  theories 
with  quite  as  good  ones  of  their  own."  She 
smiled  again  at  Elsie,  and  the  overtures  on 
that  side  ceased. 

"  I  would  have  eaten  any  imaginable  thing 
she  offered  me,"  sighed  Mrs.  Valentin,  "but 
Elsie  is  so  hard  to  impress.  I  cannot  under- 
stand how  a  girl,  a  baby,  who  has  never  been 
anywhere  or  seen  anything,  can  be  so  fear- 
fully posee.  It 's  the  Valentin  blood.  It 's 
the  drop  of  Indian  blood  away,  'way  back. 
It 's  their  impassiveness,  but  it 's  awfully  good 
form  —  when  she  grows  up  to  it." 

After  this,  Mrs. Valentin  sat  silent  for  such 
an  unnatural  length  of  time  that  Elsie  roused 
herself  to  say  something  encouraging. 

"  I  shall  be  all  right,  mother,  after  Sacra- 
mento. We  will  take  a  walk.  The  fresh  air 
is  all  I  need." 

She  was  as  good  as  her  word.  The  cup  of 
tea  and  the  twenty  minutes'  stroll  made  such 
a  happy  difference  that  Mrs.  Valentin  sent  a 


156  PILGRIMS  TO  MECCA 

telegram  to  her  husband  to  say  that  Elsie's 
head  was  better  and  that  she  had  forgotten 
her  trunk  keys,  and  would  he  express  them  to 
her  at  once. 

So  much  refreshed  was  Elsie  that  her  mother 
handed  her  the  letters  which  had  come  to  her 
share  of  that  morning's  mail.  There  were  four 
or  five  of  them,  addressed  in  large,  girlish  hands, 
and  exhibiting  the  latest  and  most  expensive 
fads  in  stationery.  Over  one  of  them  Elsie 
gave  a  shriek  of  delight,  an  outburst  so  unex- 
pected and  out  of  character  with  her  former 
self  that  their  distinguished  fellow  travelers 
involuntarily  looked  up,  —  and  Mrs.  Valentin 
blushed  for  her  child. 

"  Oh,  mammy,  how  rich  !  How  just  like 
Gladys !  She  kept  it  for  a  last  surprise ! 
Mother,  Gladys  is  going  to  Mrs.  Barrington's 
herself." 

The  mother's  face  fell. 

"  Indeed !  "  she  said,  forcing  a  tone  of  plea- 
sure. "  Well,  it 's  a  compliment  —  on  both 
sides.  Mrs.  Barrington  is  very  particular  whom 
she  takes,  and  the  Castants  are  sparing  no- 
thing that  money  can  do  for  Gladys." 

"  Oh,  what  fun !  "  cried  Elsie,  her  face  trans- 
formed. "  Poor  Gladys  !  she  '11  have  a  per- 


PILGRIMS  TO  MECCA  157 

fectly  awful  time  too,  and  we  can  sympa- 
thize." 

"  Are  you  expecting  to  have  an '  awful  time/ 
Elsie, "  —  the  mother  looked  aghast,  —  "  and 
are  you  going  to  throw  yourself  into  the  arms 
of  Gladys  for  sympathy  ?  Then  let  me  say, 
my  daughter,  that  neither  Mrs.  Barrington  nor 
any  one  else  can  do  much  for  your  improve- 
ment, and  all  the  money  we  are  spending  will 
be  thrown  away.  If  you  are  going  East  to  ally 
yourself  exclusively  with  Californian  girls,  to 
talk  California  and  think  California  and  set 
yourself  against  everything  that  is  not  Cali- 
fornian, we  might  just  as  well  take  the  first 
train  west  at  Colfax." 

"  But  am  I  to  be  different  to  Gladys  when 
we  meet  away  from  home  ?  "  Elsie's  sensitive 
eyes  clouded.  Her  brows  went  up. 

"  Of  course  not.  Gladys  is  a  dear,  delight- 
ful girl.  I  'm  as  fond  of  her  as  you  are.  But 
you  can  have  Gladys  all  the  rest  of  your  life, 
I  hope.  I  'm  not  a  snob,  dear,  but  I  do  think 
we  should  recognize  the  fact  that  some  ac- 
quaintances are  more  improving  than  others." 

"  And  cultivate  them  for  the  sake  of  what 
they  can  do  for  us  ?  " 

In  Elsie's  voice  there  was  an  edge  of  resist- 


158  PILGRIMS  TO  MECCA 

ance,  hearing  which  her  mother,  when  she  was 
wise,  would  let  speech  die  and  silence  do  its 
work.  Her  influence  with  the  girl  was  strong- 
est when  least  insisted  upon.  She  was  not 
wiser  than  usual  that  morning,  but  the  noise 
of  the  train  made  niceties  of  statement  im- 
possible. She  abandoned  the  argument  per- 
force, and  Elsie,  left  with  her  retort  unan- 
swered, acknowledged  its  cheapness  in  her  own 
quick,  strong,  wordless  way. 

The  dining-car  would  not  be  attached  to  the 
train  until  they  reached  Ogden.  At  twilight 
they  stopped  "twenty  minutes  for  refresh- 
ment," and  the  Valentins  took  the  refreshment 
they  needed  most  by  pacing  the  platform  up 
and  down, —  the  tall  daughter,  in  her  severely 
cut  clothes,  shortening  her  boyish  stride  to 
match  her  mother's  step  ;  the  mother,  looking 
older  than  she  need,  in  a  light-gray  traveling- 
cap,  with  Elsie's  golf  cape  thrown  over  her 
silk  waist. 

The  Eastern  travelers  were  walking  too. 
They  had  their  tea  out  of  an  English  tea-bas- 
ket, and  bread  and  butter  from  the  buffet,  and 
were  independent  of  supper  stations.  With 
the  Valentius  it  was  sheer  improvidence  and 
want  of  appetite. 


PILGRIMS  TO  MECCA  159 

"  Please  notice  that  girl's  step,"  said  Mrs. 
Valentin,  pressing  Elsie's  arm.  " '  Art  is  to 
conceal  art.'  It  has  taken  years  of  the  best 
of  everything,  and  eternal  vigilance  besides, 
to  create  such  a  walk  as  that;  but  c'estfait. 
You  don't  see  the  entire  sole  of  her  foot  every 
time  she  takes  a  step." 

"  Having  a  certain  other  person's  soles  in 
view,  mammy  ?  " 

"I'm  afraid  I  should  have  them  in  full 
view  if  you  came  to  meet  me.  Not  the  heel 
quite  so  pronounced,  dearest." 

"  Oh,  mother,  please  leave  that  to  Mrs. 
Barrington !  Let  us  be  comrades  for  these  few 
days." 

"  Dearest,  it  would  be  the  happiness  of  my 
life  to  be  never  anything  but  a  comrade.  But 
who  is  to  nag  a  girl  if  not  her  mother  ?  I 
very  much  doubt  if  Mrs.  Barrington  will  con- 
descend to  speak  of  your  boot-soles.  She  will 
expect  all  that  to  have  been  attended  to  long 
ago." 

"  It  has  been  —  a  thousand  years  ago. 
Sometimes  I  feel  that  I  'm  all  boot-soles." 

"  The  moment  I  see  some  result,  dear,  I  shall 
be  satisfied.  One  does  n't  speak  of  such  things 
for  their  own  sake." 


160  PILGRIMS  TO  MECCA 

"Can't  we  get  a  paper?"  askedElsie.  "What 
is  that  they  are  shouting  ?  " 

"  I  don't  think  it  can  be  anything  new.  We 
brought  these  papers  with  us  on  the  train. 
But  we  can  see.  No ;  it 's  just  what  we  had 
this  morning.  They  are  preparing  for  a  gen- 
eral assault.  There  will  be  heavy  fighting  to- 
morrow. Why,  that  is  to-day  !  "  Mrs.  Valentin 
held  the  newspaper  at  arm's  length. 

"  Is  there  anything  more  ?  I  can  read  only 
the  head-lines." 

The  girl  took  the  paper  and  looked  at  it  with 
a  certain  reluctance,  narrowing  her  eyelids. 

"  Mother,  there  was  something  else  in  Glad- 
ys's letter.  Billy  Castant  has  enlisted  with  the 
Rough  Riders.  He  was  in  that  fight  at  Las 
Guasimas,  while  we  were  packing  our  trunks. 
He  did  badly  again  in  his  exams,  and  he — he 
did  n't  go  home;  he  just  enlisted." 

"The  foolish  fellow!"  Mrs.  Valentin  ex- 
claimed. A  sharp  intuition  told  her  there  was 
trouble  in  the  wind,  and  defensively  she  turned 
upon  the  presumptive  cause.  "  The  foolish 
boy!  What  he  needs  is  an  education.  But  he 
won't  work  for  it.  It 's  easier  to  go  off  mad 
and  be  a  Rough  Rider." 

"  I  don't  think  it  was  easy  at  Las  Guasimas," 


PILGRIMS  TO  MECCA  161 

Elsie  said,  with  a  strained  little  laugh.  "  You 
remember  the  last  war,  mother ;  did  you  be- 
little your  volunteers  ?  " 

Mrs.  Valentin  listened  with  a  catch  in  her 
breath.  What  did  this  portend  ?  So  slight  a 
sign  as  that  in  Elsie  meant  tears  and  con- 
fessions from  another  girl. 

"  And  did  you  hear  of  this  only  just  now, 
from  Gladys's  letter?" 

"  Yes,  mother." 

"  You  extraordinary  child — your  father  all 
over  again  !  I  might  have  known  by  the  way 
you  laughed  over  that  letter  that  you  had  bad 
news  to  tell  —  or  keep  to  yourself." 

"  I  don't  call  that  bad  news,  do  you,  mother  ? 
He  does  need  an  education,  but  he  will  never 
get  it  out  of  books." 

"  Well,  it 's  a  pretty  severe  sort  of  educa- 
tion for  his  parents  —  nineteen,  an  only  son, 
and  to  go  without  seeing  them  again.  He 
might  at  least  have  come  home  and  enlisted 
from  his  own  State." 

They  were  at  the  far  end  of  the  platform, 
facing  the  dark  of  the  pine-clad  ravines.  Deep, 
odorous  breaths  of  night  wind  came  sighing 
up  the  slopes. 

"  Mother,  there  was  something   happened 


162  PILGRIMS  TO  MECCA 

last  winter  that  I  never  told  you,"  Elsie  began 
again,  with  pauses.  "  It  was  so  silly,  and  there 
seemed  no  need  to  speak  of  it.  But  I  can't 
bear  not  to  speak  now.  I  don't  know  if  it  has 
made  any  difference  —  with  Billy's  plans.  It 
seems  disloyal  to  tell  you.  But  you  must  for- 
get it :  he  's  forgotten,  I  am  sure.  He  said — 
those  silly  things,  you  know  !  I  could  n't  have 
told  you  then  ;  it  was  too  silly.  And  I  said  that 
I  did  n't  think  it  was  for  him  or  for  me  to  talk 
about  such  things.  It  was  for  men  and  women, 
not  boys  who  could  n't  even  get  their  lessons." 

"  Elsie !  "  Mrs.  Valentin  gave  a  little  choked 
laugh.  "  Did  you  say  that  ?  The  poor  boy  ! 
Why,  I  thought  you  were  such  good  friends ! " 

"  He  was  n't  talking  friendship,  mother,  and 
I  was  furious  with  him  for  flunking  his  exams. 
He  passed  in  only  five  out  of  seven.  He  ought 
to  have  done  better  than  that.  He 's  not  stupid ; 
it 's  that  fatal  popularity.  He  's  captain  of 
this  and  manager  of  that,  and  they  give  him 
such  a  lot  of  money.  And  they  pet  him,  too  ; 
they  make  excuses  for  him  all  the  time.  I  told 
him  he  must  do  something  before  he  began  to 
have  feelings.  The  only  feeling  he  had  any 
right  to  have  was  shame  for  his  miserable  re- 
cord." 


PILGRIMS  TO  MECCA  163 

"  And  that  was  all  the  encouragement  you 
gave  him  ?  " 

"  If  you  caU  that  '  encouragement/  "  said 
Elsie. 

"  You  did  very  well,  my  dear ;  but  I  sup- 
pose you  know  it  was  the  most  intimate  thing 
you  could  have  said  to  him,  the  greatest  com- 
pliment you  could  pay  him.  If  he  ever  does 
make  any  sort  of  a  record,  you  have  given 
him  the  right  to  come  back  to  you  with 
it." 

"  He  will  never  come  back  to  me  without 
it,"  said  the  girl.  "But  it  was  nothing  —  no- 
thing! All  idleness  and  nonsense,  and  the 
music  after  supper  that  went  to  his  head." 

"  I  hope  it  was  nothing  more  than  "  —  Mrs. 
Valentin  checked  herself.  There  were  things 
she  said  to  her  husband  which  sometimes  threat- 
ened to  slip  out  inadvertently  when  his  youth- 
ful copy  was  near.  "  Well,  I  see  nothing  to 
be  ashamed  of,  on  your  side.  But  such  things 
are  always  a  pity.  They  age  a  girl  in  spite  of 
herself.  And  the  boys  —  they  simply  forget. 
The  rebuke  does  them  good,  but  they  forget 
to  whom  they  owe  it.  It 's  just  one  of  those 
things  that  make  my  girlie  older.  But  oh, 
how  fast  life  comes  !  " 


164  PILGRIMS  TO  MECCA 

Elsie  slipped  her  hand  under  her  mother's 
cloak,  and  Mrs.  Valentin  pressed  her  own  down 
hard  upon  it. 

"  We  must  get  aboard,  dear.  But  I  'm  so 
glad  you  told  me  !  And  I  did  n't  mean  quite 
what  I  said  about  Billy's  '  going  off  mad.'  He 
has  given  all  he  had  to  give,  poor  boy ;  why 
he  gave  it  is  his  own  affair." 

"  I  hope  —  what  I  told  you  —  has  made  no 
difference  about  his  coming  home.  It 's  stupid 
of  me  to  think  it.  But  hard  words  come  back, 
don't  they,  mother  ?  Hard  words  —  to  an  old 
friend!"  ' 

"Billy  is  all  right,  dear;  and  it  was  so 
natural  you  should  be  tried  with  him !  '  For 
to  be  wroth  with  one  we  '  "  —  Mrs.  Valentin 
had  another  of  her  narrow  escapes.  "  Come, 
there  is  the  porter  waiting  for  us." 

"  Mother,"  said  Elsie  sternly,  "  please  don't 
misunderstand.  I  should  never  have  spoken  of 
this  if  I  had  been  '  wroth '  with  him  —  in  that 
way." 

"  Of  course  not,  dear ;  I  understand.  And 
it  would  never  do,  anyway,  for  father  does  n't 
like  the  blood." 

"  Father  does  n't  like  the  — what,  mother  ?  " 

Elsie  asked  the  question  half  an  hour  later, 


PILGRIMS  TO  MECCA  165 

as  they  sat  in  an  adjoining  section,  waiting  for 
their  berths  to  be  made  up. 

"What,  dear?" 

"  What  did  you  say  father  does  n't  like  — 
in  the  Castants  ?  " 

"  Oh,  the  blood,  the  family.  This  genera- 
tion is  all  right  —  apparently.  But  blood  will 
tell.  You  are  too  young  to  know  all  the  old 
histories  that  fathers  and  mothers  read  young 
people  by." 

"  I  think  we  are  what  we  are,"  said  Elsie ; 
"  we  are  not  our  great-grandfathers." 

"  In  a  measure  we  are,  and  it  should  teach 
us  charity.  Not  as  much  can  be  expected  of 
Billy  Castant,  coming  of  the  stock  he  does,  as 
you  might  expect  of  that  ancestry,"  and  Mrs. 
Valentin  nodded  toward  the  formidable  Eastern 
contingent.  (Elsie  was  consciously  hating  them 
already.)  "  The  fountain  can  rise  no  higher 
than  its  source." 

"I  thought  there  was  supposed  to  be  a 
source  a  little  higher  than  the  ground  —  un- 
less we  are  no  more  than  earth-born  foun- 
tains." 

"  <  Out  of  the  mouth  of  babes,'  "  said  Mrs. 
Valentin,  laughing  gently.  "  I  own  it,  dear. 
Middle  age  is  suspicious  and  mean  and  un- 


166  PILGRIMS  TO  MECCA 

spiritual  and  troubled  about  many  things.  A 
middle-aged  mother  is  like  an  old  hen  when 
hawks  are  sailing  around;  she  can't  see  the 
sky." 

"  Yes,"  said  Elsie,  settling  cosily  against 
her  mother's  shoulder.  "  I  always  know  when 
mammy  speaks  as  my  official  mother,  and  when 
she  is  talking  '  straight  talk.'  I  shall  be  so 
happy  when  she  believes  I  am  old  enough  to 
hear  only  straight  talk." 

"  I  Ve  got  a  surprise  for  you,  Elsie,"  said 
Mrs.  Valentin,  a  day  and  a  night  eastward  of 
the  Sierras.  They  were  on  the  Great  Plains, 
at  that  stage  of  an  overland  journey  which 
suggests,  in  the  words  of  a  clever  woman,  the 
advisability  of  "  taking  a  tuck  in  the  conti- 
nent." 

Elsie's  eyebrows  seemed  to  portend  that  sur- 
prises are  not  always  pleasant. 

"  I  've  been  talking  with  our  Eastern  lady, 
and  imagine !  her  daughter  is  one  of  Mrs.  Bar- 
rington's  girls  too.  This  will  be  her  second 
year.  So  there  is  "  — 

"  An  offset  to  Gladys,"  Elsie  interrupted. 

"  So  there  is  a  chance  for  you  to  know  one 
girl,  at  least,  of  the  type  I  've  always  been 


PILGRIMS  TO  MECCA  167 

holding  up  to  you,  always  believed  in,  though 
the  individuals  are  so  rare." 

Elsie's  sentiments,  unexpressed,  were  that 
she  wished  they  might  be  rarer.  Not  that  the 
flower  of  Eastern  culture  was  not  all  her  mother 
protested  she  was ;  but  there  are  crises  of  dis- 
couragement on  the  upward  climb  of  trying 
to  realize  a  mother's  ambitions  for  one's  self, 
when  one  is  only  a  girl  —  the  only  girl,  on 
whom  the  family  experiments  are  all  to  be 
wreaked.  Elsie  suffered  in  silence  many  a  pang 
that  her  mother  never  dreamed  of  —  pangs  of 
effort  unavailing  and  unappreciated.  She  wished 
to  conform  to  her  mother's  exigent  standard, 
but  she  could  not,  all  at  once,  and  be  a  girl 
too  —  a  girl  of  sixteen,  a  little  off  the  key 
physically,  not  having  come  to  a  woman's  re- 
pose of  movement ;  a  little  stridulous  mentally, 
but  pulsing  with  life's  dumb  music  of  aspira- 
tion ;  as  intense  as  her  mother  in  feeling,  with- 
out her  mother's  power  to  throw  off  the  strain 
in  words. 

"  Well,  mother  ?  "  she  questioned. 

"  She  is  older  than  you,  and  she  will  be  at 
home.  The  advances,  of  course,  must  come 
from  her,  but  I  hope,  dear,  you  will  not  be  — 
you  will  try  to  be  responsive  ?  " 


168  PILGRIMS  TO  MECCA 

"  I  never  know,  mother,  when  I  am  not 
responsive.  It 's  like  wrinkling  my  forehead ; 
it  does  itself." 

Mrs.  Valentin  made  a  gesture  expressive  of 
the  futility  of  argument  under  certain  not 
unfamiliar  conditions. 

"  '  You  can  lead  a  horse  to  water,  but  you 
can't  make  him  drink.'  I  am  leading  my 
Pegasus  to  the  fountain  of  —  what  was  the 
fountain  ?  " 

Elsie  laughed.  "  Your  Pegasus  is  pretty 
heavy  on  the  wing,  mammy.  But  I  will  drink. 
I  will  gorge  myself,  truly  I  will.  The  money 
shall  not  be  spent  in  vain." 

"  Oh,  the  money !  Who  cares  about  the 
money?  —  if  only  there  were  more  of  it." 

They  stopped  over  night  in  Chicago,  and 
Mrs.  Valentin  bought  some  shirt-waists;  for 
the  heat  had  "  doubled  up  on  them,"  as  a 
Kansas  farmer  on  the  train  remarked. 

Elsie  trailed  about  the  shops  with  her 
mother,  not  greatly  interested  in  shirt-waists 
or  bargains  in  French  underclothing. 

The  war  pressure  seemed  to  close  in  upon 
them  as  they  left  the  mid-West  and  drew  to- 
ward the  coast  once  more.  The  lists  from  El 
Caney  were  throbbing  over  the  wires,  and  the 


PILGRIMS  TO  MECCA  169 

country,  so  long  immune  from  peril  and  suffer- 
ing, was  awakening  to  the  cost  of  victory. 
There  was  a  terrible  flippancy  in  the  irrepres- 
sible spirit  of  trade  which  had  seized  upon  the 
nation's  emblems,  freshly  consecrated  in  the 
blood  of  her  sons,  and  was  turning  them  to 
commercial  account,  —  advertising,  in  symbols 
of  death  and  priceless  devotion,  that  ribbons 
or  soap  or  candy  were  for  sale.  The  flag  was, 
so  to  speak,  dirt-cheap.  You  could  wear  it  in 
a  hatband  or  a  necktie ;  you  could  deface  it, 
or  tear  it  in  two,  in  opening  an  envelope  ad- 
dressed to  you  by  your  bootmaker. 

Elsie  cast  hunted  eyes  on  the  bulletin  boards. 
She  knew  by  heart  that  first  list  after  Las  Gua- 
simas.  One  glance  had  burned  it  in  forever. 
It  had  become  one  of  the  indelible  scars  of  a 
lifetime.  Yet  those  were  the  names  of  stran- 
gers. If  a  whiff  from  an  avalanche  can  fell 
trees  a  mile  away,  how  if  the  avalanche  strike 
you? 

They  returned  to  their  hotel,  exhausted,  yet 
excited,  by  the  heat ;  and  Mrs.  Valentin  ad- 
monished herself  of  what  our  boys  must  be 
suffering  in  that  "  unimaginable  climate,"  and 
she  entered  into  details,  forgetting  to  spare 
Elsie,  till  the  girl  turned  a  sickly  white. 


170  PILGRIMS  TO  MECCA 

It  was  then  the  bishop's  card  was  sent  up  — 
their  own  late  bishop,  much  mourned  and  de- 
plored because  he  had  been  transferred  to  an 
Eastern  diocese.  There  could  be  no  one  so 
invariably  welcome,  who  knew  so  well,  without 
effort,  how  to  touch  the  right  chord,  whether 
in  earnest  or  in  jest  that  sometimes  hid  a 
deeper  earnest.  His  manner  at  first  usually 
hovered  between  the  two,  your  own  mood  de- 
termining where  the  emphasis  should  rest.  He 
had  brought  with  him  the  evening  paper,  but 
he  kept  it  folded  in  his  hand. 

"  So  you  are  pilgrims  to  Mecca,"  he  said, 
looking  from  mother  to  daughter  with  his  gen- 
tle, musing  smile.  "  But  are  you  not  a  little 
early  for  the  Eastern  schools  ?  " 

"  There  are  the  home  visits  first,  and  the 
clothes,"  said  Mrs.  Valentin. 

"  And  where  do  you  stop,  and  for  how 
long?" 

"  Boston,  for  one  year,  Bishop,  and  then  we 
go  abroad  for  a  year,  perhaps." 

"  Bless  me !  what  has  Elsie  done  that  she 
should  be  banished  from  home  for  two  years?" 

"  She  takes  her  mother  with  her." 

"  Yes ;  that  is  half  of  the  home.  Perhaps 
that 's  as  much  as  one  girl  ought  to  expect." 


PILGRIMS  TO  MECCA  171 

"  The  fathers  are  so  busy,  Bishop." 

"  Yes  ;  the  fathers  do  seem  to  be  busy.  So 
Elsie  is  going  East  to  be  finished  ?  And  how 
old  is  she  now  ?  How  does  she  presume  to 
account  for  the  fact  that  she  is  taller  than  her 
mother  and  nearly  as  tall  as  her  bishop  ?  " 

Elsie  promptly  placed  herself  at  the  bish- 
op's side  and  "  measured,"  glancing  over  her 
shoulder  at  him  in  the  glass.  He  turned  and 
gravely  placed  his  hand  upon  her  head. 

"  I  thought  of  writing  to  you  at  one  time," 
said  Mrs.  Valentin,  "  but  of  course  you  cannot 
keep  us  all  on  your  mind.  We  are  a  '  back 
number/  ' 

"  She  thought  I  would  have  forgotten  who 
these  Valentins  were,"  said  the  bishop,  smiling. 

"  No ;  but  you  cannot  keep  the  thread  of 
all  our  troubles  —  the  sheep  of  the  old  flock 
and  the  lambs  of  the  new.  I  have  had  a  thou- 
sand minds  lately  about  Elsie,  but  this  was  the 
original  plan,  made  years  ago,  when  we  were 
young  and  sure  about  things.  Don't  you  think 
young  lives  need  room,  Bishop  ?  Ought  n't  we 
to  seek  to  widen  their  mental  horizons  ?  " 

"  The  horizons  widen,  they  widen  of  them- 
selves, Mrs.  Valentin  —  very  suddenly  some- 
times, and  beyond  our  ken."  The  bishop's 


172  PILGRIMS  TO  MECCA 

voice  had  struck  a  deeper  note ;  he  paused  and 
looked  at  Elsie  with  eyes  so  kind  and  tender 
that  the  girl  choked  and  turned  away.  "  This 
war  is  rather  a  widening  business,  and  Cali- 
fornia is  getting  her  share.  Our  boys  of  the 
First,  for  instance,  —  you  see  I  still  call  them 
our  boys,  —  what  were  they  doing  a  year  ago, 
and  what  are  they  doing  now  ?  I  '11  be  bound 
half  of  them  a  year  ago  did  n't  know  how 
6  Philippines '  was  spelled." 

Mrs.  Valentin  became  restless. 

"  Is  that  the  evening  paper  ?  "  she  asked. 

The  bishop  glanced  at  the  paper.  "  And 
who,"  said  he,  "  is  to  open  the  gates  of  sunrise 
for  our  Elsie  ?  With  whom  do  you  intend  to 
place  her  in  Boston  ?  " 

"  Oh,  with  Mrs.  Barrington." 

Mrs.  Valentin  was  watching  the  bishop, 
whose  eyes  still  rested  upon  Elsie. 

"  She  is  to  be  one  of  the  chosen  five,  is 
she?  The  five  wise  virgins  —  of  the  East? 
But  they  are  all  Western  virgins  this  year,  I 
believe." 

"If  you  mean  that  they  are  all  from  the 
Western  States,  I  think  you  are  mistaken, 
Bishop." 

"Am  I?  Let  us  see.   There  is  Elsie,  and 


PILGRIMS  TO  MECCA  173 

Gladys  Castant,  perhaps,  and  the  daughters 
of  my  friend  Mr.  Laws  of  West  Dakota  "  — 

"  Bishop ! " 

"  Of  West  Dakota ;  that  makes  four.  And 
then  the  young  lady  who  was  on  the  train 
with  you,  Miss  Bigelow,  from  Los  Angeles." 

"  Bishop  !  I  am  certain  you  are  mistaken 
there.  If  those  people  are  not  Eastern,  then 
I  'm  from  West  Dakota  myself !  " 

"  We  are  all  from  West  Dakota  virtually, 
so  far  as  Mecca  is  concerned.  But  Mrs.  Bar- 
rington  offers  her  young  ladies  those  excep- 
tional social  opportunities  which  Western  girls 
are  supposed  to  need.  If  you  want  Elsie  to  be 
with  Eastern  girls  of  the  East,  let  her  go  to  a 
good  Boston  Latin  school.  Did  you  not  go  to 
one  yourself,  Mrs.  Valentin  ?  " 

Mrs.  Valentin  laughed.  "That  was  ages 
ago,  and  I  was  at  home.  I  had  the  environ- 
ment—  an  education  in  itself.  Won't  you 
dine  with  us,  Bishop  ?  We  shall  have  dinner 
in  half  an  hour." 

"  In  half  an  hour  I  must  be  on  the  limited 
express.  You  seem  to  have  made  different 
connections." 

" {  The  error  was,  we  started  wrong,' "  said 
Mrs.  Valentin  lightly.  "We  took  the  morn- 


174  PILGRIMS  TO  MECCA 

ing  instead  of  the  evening  train.  But  I  was 
convinced  we  should  be  left,  and  I  preferred 
to  get  left  by  the  wrong  train  and  have  the 
right  one  to  fall  back  on."  She  ceased  her 
babble,  as  vain  words  die  when  there  is  a  sense 
of  no  one  listening. 

Elsie  stood  at  the  window  looking  back 
into  the  room.  She  thought, "  Mother  does  n't 
know  what  she  is  saying.  What  is  she  wor- 
ried about  ?  " 

The  bishop  was  writing  with  a  gold  pencil 
on  the  margin  of  the  newspaper.  He  folded 
it  with  the  writing  on  top. 

"If  you  had  consulted  me  about  that 
child,"  —  he  looked  at  Elsie,  —  "I  should 
have  said,  l  Do  not  hurry  her  —  do  not  hurry 
her.  Her  education  will  come  as  God  sends 
it.'  With  experience,  as  with  death,  it  is  the 
prematureness  that  hurts." 

His  beautiful  voice  and  perfect  accent  filled 
the  silence  with  heart-warmed  cadences. 

"  Well,  good-by,  Mrs.  Valentin.  Remember 
me  to  that  busy  husband." 

Mrs.  Valentin  rose;  the  bishop  took  her 
hand.  "Elsie  will  see  me  to  the  elevator. 
This  is  the  evening  paper." 

He  offered  it  with  the  writing  toward  her. 


PILGRIMS  TO  MECCA  175 

Mrs.  Valentin  read  what  he  had  written: 
"  Billy  Castant  was  killed  in  the  charge  at 
San  Juan.  Every  man  in  that  fight  deserves 
the  thanks  of  the  nation." 

"  Come,  Elsie,  see  me  to  my  carriage,"  the 
bishop  was  saying.  He  placed  the  girl's  hand 
on  his  arm  and  led  her  out  of  the  room.  At 
the  elevator  grating  they  waited  a  moment ; 
the  cold  draft  up  the  shaft  fanned  the  hair 
back  from  Elsie's  forehead  as  she  stood  look- 
ing down,  watching  the  ascent  of  the  cage. 

"It  would  be  a  happy  thing,"  said  the 
bishop,  "  if  parents  could  always  go  with  their 
children  on  these  long  roads  of  experience; 
but  there  are  some  roads  the  boys  and  the 
girls  will  have  to  take  alone.  We  shall  all 
meet  at  the  other  end,  though  —  we  shah1  all 
meet  at  the  end." 

Elsie  walked  up  and  down  the  hall  awhile, 
dreading  to  go  back  to  the  room.  A  band  in 
the  street  below  was  playing  an  old  war-song 
of  the  sixties,  revived  this  battle  summer  of 
'98,  —  a  song  that  was  sung  when  the  cost 
of  that  war  was  beginning  to  tell,  "  We  shall 
meet,  but  we  shall  miss  him."  Elsie  knew  the 
music ;  she  had  not  yet  learned  the  words. 

Next  morning   Mr.  Valentin  received  one 


176  PILGRIMS  TO  MECCA 

of  his  wife's  vague  but  thrifty  telegrams, 
dated  at  Chicago,  on  Sunday  night,  July  3 : 

"  We  cannot  go  through  with  it.  Expect 
us  home  Wednesday." 

Mrs.  Valentin  had  spent  hours,  years,  in 
explaining  to  Elsie's  father  the  many  cogent 
and  crying  reasons  for  taking  her  East  to  be 
finished.  It  needed  not  quite  five  minutes  to 
explain  why  she  had  brought  her  back. 

Strangely,  none  of  the  friends  of  the  fam- 
ily asked  for  an  explanation  of  this  sudden 
change  of  plan.  But  Elsie  envies  Gladys  her 
black  clothes,  and  the  privilege  of  crying  in 
public  when  the  bands  play  and  the  troops 
goby. 

"  Such  children  —  such  mere  children  !  " 
Mrs.  Valentin  sighs. 

But  she  no  longer  speaks  to  Elsie  about 
wrinkling  her  forehead  or  showing  her  boot- 
soles.  It  is  eye  to  eye  and  heart  to  heart,  and 
only  straight  talk  between  them  now,  as  be- 
tween women  who  know. 


THE  HARSHAW   BRIDE 


THE  HARSHAW   BRIDE 

[Mrs.  Tom  Daly,  of  Bisuka  in  the  Northwest,  writes 
to  her  invalid  sister  spending  the  summer  on  the  coast  of 
Southern  California.] 


You  know  I  am  always  ready  to  sacrifice 
truth  to  politeness,  if  the  truth  is  of  that  poor, 
stingy  upstart  variety  everybody  is  familiar 
with  and  if  the  occasion  warrants  the  expense. 
We  all  know  politeness  is  not  cheap,  any  more 
than  honesty  is  politic.  But  surely  I  mistook 
my  occasion,  one  day  last  winter  —  and  now 
behold  the  price  ! 

We  are  to  have  a  bride  on  our  hands,  or  a 
bride-elect,  for  she  is  n't  married  yet.  The  happy 
man  to  be  is  rustling  for  a  home  out  here  in 
the  wilds  of  Idaho  while  she  is  waiting  in  the 
old  country  for  success  to  crown  his  efforts. 
How  much  success  in  her  case  is  demanded 
one  does  not  know.  She  is  a  little  English 
girl,  upper  middle  class,  which  Mrs.  Percifer 
assures  us  is  the  class  to  belong  to  in  England 


180  THE  HARSHAW  BRIDE 

at  the  present  day,  —  from  which  we  infer  that 
it 's  her  class ;  and  the  interesting  reunion  is 
to  take  place  at  our  house  —  the  young  woman 
never  having  seen  us  in  her  life  before. 

She  sailed,  poor  thing,  this  day  week  and 
will  be  forwarded  to  us  by  her  confiding  friends 
in  New  York  as  soon  as  she  arrives.  Meantime 
she  will  have  heard  from  us  from  the  Percif ers : 
that  is  something. 

Really  they  were  very  nice  to  us  in  New 
York,  last  winter,  the  Percif  ers  —  though  one 
must  not  plume  one's  self  too  much.  It  began 
as  a  business  flirtation  down  town  between  the 
husbands,  and  then  Tom  confidingly  mentioned 
that  he  had  a  wife  at  his  hotel.  We  unfortu- 
nate women  were  dragged  into  it  forthwith, 
and  more  or  less  forced  to  live  up  to  it.  I  can- 
not say  there  was  anything  riotous  in  the  way 
she  sustained  her  part.  She  was  so  very  imper- 
sonal in  fact,  when  we  said  good-by,  that  my 
natural  tendency  to  invite  people  to  come  and 
stay  with  us,  on  the  spur  of  any  moment,  was 
strangled  in  my  throat. 

But  one  must  say  something  by  way  of 
retaliation  for  hospitality  one  cannot  reject. 
So  I  put  it  off  on  any  friends  of  theirs  who 
might  have  occasion  to  command  us  in  the 


THE  HARSHAW  BRIDE  181 

West.  We  should  be  so  happy,  and  so  forth. 
And,  my  dear,  she  has  taken  me  up  on  it! 
She  's  not  impersonal  now.  She  is  so  glad 

—  for  dear  Kitty's  sake  —  that  we  are  here, 
and  she  is  sure  we  will  be  very  good  to  her  — 
such  a  sweet  girl,  no  one  could  help  being  — 
which  rather  cuts  down  the  margin  for  our 
goodness.    The   poor  child  —  I  am  quoting 
Mrs.  Percifer  —  knows  absolutely  no  one  in 
the  West  but  the  man  she  is  coming  to  marry 
(?)  and  can  have  no  conception  of  the  journey 
she  has  before  her.    She  will  be  so  comforted 
to  find  us  at  the  end  of  it.    And  if  anything 
unforeseen  should  occur  to  delay  Mr.  Harshaw, 
the  fiance,  and  prevent  his  meeting  her  train,  it 
will  be  a  vast  relief  to  Kitty's  friends  to  know 
that  the  dear  brave  little  girl  is  in  good  hands 

—  ours,  if  you  can  conceive  it ! 

Please  observe  the  coolness  with  which  she 
treats  his  not  meeting  that  train,  after  the  girl 
has  traversed  half  the  globe  to  compass  her 
share  of  their  meeting. 

Well,  it 's  not  the  American  way ;  but  per- 
haps it  will  be  when  bad  times  have  humbled 
us  a  little  more,  and  the  question  is  whether 
we  can  marry  our  daughters  at  all  unless  we 
can  give  them  dowries,  or  professions  to  support 


182  THE  HARSHAW  BRIDE 

their  husbands  on,  and  "  f eelings  "  are  a  luxury 
only  the  rich  can  afford. 

I  hope  "  Kitty  "  won't  have  any ;  but  still 
more  I  hope  that  her  young  man  will  arrive 
on  schedule  time,  and  that  they  can  trot  round 
the  corner  and  be  married,  with  Tom  and  me 
for  witnesses,  as  speedily  as  possible. 

I  've  had  such  a  blow  !  Tom,  with  an  effort, 
has  succeeded  in  remembering  this  Mr.  Harshaw 
who  is  poor  Kitty's  fate.  He  must  have  been 
years  in  this  country,  —  long  enough  to  have 
citizenized  himself  and  become  a  member  of 
our  first  Idaho  legislature  (I  don't  believe  you 
even  know  that  we  are  a  State  !).  Tom  was  on 
the  supper  committee  of  the  baU  the  city  gave 
them.  They  were  a  deplorable  set  of  men ;  it 
was  easy  enough  to  remember  the  nice  ones. 
Tom  says  he  is  a  "  chump,"  if  you  know  what 
that  means.  I  tell  him  that  every  man,  married 
or  single,  is  constitutionally  horrid  to  any  other 
man  who  has  had  the  luck  to  be  chosen  of  a 
charming  girl.  But  I  'm  afraid  Harshaw  was  n't 
one  of  the  nice  ones,  or  I  should  have  remem- 
bered him  myself ;  we  had  them  to  dinner  — 
all  who  were  at  all  worth  while. 

Poor  Kitty !  There  is  so  little  here  to  come 
for  but  the  man. 


THE  HARSHAW  BRIDE  183 

Well,  my  dear,  here's  a  pretty  kettle  of 
fish !  Kitty  has  arrived,  and  one  Mr.  Harshaw. 
Where  the  Mr.  Harshaw  is,  quien  sdbe  !  It 's 
awfully  late.  Poor  Kitty  has  gone  to  bed,  and 
has  cried  herself  to  sleep,  I  dare  say,  if  sleep 
she  can.  I  never  have  heard  of  a  girl  being 
treated  so. 

Tom  and  the  other  Mr.  Harshaw  are  smok- 
ing in  the  dining-room,  and  Tom  is  talking 
endlessly  —  what  about  I  can't  imagine,  unless 
he  is  giving  this  young  record-breaker  his 
opinion  of  his  extraordinary  conduct.  But  I 
must  begin  at  the  beginning. 

Mrs.  Percifer  wired  us  from  New  York  the 
day  the  bride-elect  started,  and  she  was  to  wire 
us  from  Ogden,  which  she  did.  I  went  to  the 
train  to  meet  her,  and  I  told  Tom  to  be  on  the 
watch  for  the  bridegroom,  who  would  come  in 
from  his  ranch  on  the  Snake  River,  by  wagon 
or  on  horseback,  across  country  from  Ten  Mile. 
To  come  by  rail  he  'd  have  had  to  go  round  a 
hundred  miles  or  so,  by  Mountain  Home.  An 
American  would  have  done  it,  of  course,  and 
have  come  in  with  her  on  the  train  ;  but  the 
Percifers  plainly  expected  no  such  wild  burst 
of  enthusiasm  from  him. 

The  train  was  late.   I  walked  and  walked 


184  THE  HARSHAW  BRIDE 

the  platform ;  some  of  the  people  who  were 
waiting  went  away,  but  I  dared  not  leave  my 
post.  I  fell  to  watching  a  spurt  of  dust  away 
off  across  the  river  toward  the  mesa.  It  rolled 
up  fast,  and  presently  I  saw  a  man  on  horse- 
back ;  then  I  did  n't  see  him ;  then  he  had 
crossed  the  bridge  and  was  pounding  down 
the  track-side  toward  the  depot.  He  pulled  up 
and  spoke  to  a  trainman,  and  after  that  he 
walked  his  horse  as  if  he  was  satisfied. 

This  is  Harshaw,  I  thought,  and  a  very 
pretty  fellow,  but  not  in  the  least  like  an 
Idaho  legislator.  I  can't  say  that  I  care  for 
the  sort  of  Englishman  who  is  so  prompt  to 
swear  allegiance  to  our  flag;  they  never  do 
unless  they  want  to  go  in  for  government  land, 
or  politics,  or  something  that  has  nothing  to 
do  with  any  flag.  But  this  youngster  looked 
ridiculously  young.  I  simply  knew  he  was 
coming  for  that  girl,  and  that  he  had  no  ulte- 
rior motives  whatever.  He  was  ashy-white  with 
dust  —  hair,  eyebrows,  eyelashes,  and  his  fair 
little  mustache  all  powdered  with  it ;  his  cordu- 
roys, leggings,  and  hat  all  of  a  color.  I  saw 
no  baggage,  and  I  wondered  what  he  expected 
to  be  married  in.  He  leaned  on  his  horse  diz- 
zily a  moment  when  he  first  got  out  of  the 


THE  HARSHAW  BRIDE  185 

saddle,  and  the  poor  beast  stretched  his  fore 
legs,  and  rocked  with  the  gusts  of  his  panting, 
his  sides  going  in  and  out  like  a  pair  of  bel- 
lows. The  young  fellow  handed  him  over  to 
a  man  to  take  to  the  stables,  and  I  saw  him 
give  him  a  regular  bridegroom's  tip.  He  's  all 
right,  I  said  to  myself,  and  Tom  was  horrid  to 
call  him  a  "  chump."  He  beat  himself  off  a 
bit,  and  went  in  and  talked  to  the  ticket-agent. 
They  looked  at  their  watches. 

"  I  don't  think  you  '11  have  time  to  go  up- 
town," said  the  ticket-man. 

Harshaw  came  out  then,  and  he  began  to 
walk  the  platform,  and  to  stare  down  the 
track  toward  Nampa ;  so  I  sat  down.  Pres- 
ently he  stopped,  and  raised  his  hat,  and 
asked  if  I  was  Mrs.  Daly,  a  friend  of  Mrs. 
Percifer  of  London  and  New  York. 

Not  to  be  boastful,  I  said  that  I  knew  Mrs. 
Percifer. 

"  Then,"  said  he,  "  we  are  here  on  the  same 
errand,  I  think." 

/  was  there  to  meet  Miss  Kitty  Comyn,  I 
told  him,  and  he  said  so  was  he,  and  might 
he  have  a  little  talk  with  me  ?  He  seemed  ex- 
cited and  serious,  very. 

"Are  you  the  Mr.   Harshaw?"   I  asked, 


186  THE  HARSHAW  BEIDE 

though  I  had  n't  an  idea,  of  course,  that  he 
could  be  anybody  else. 

"  Not  exactly,"  he  said.  "  I  'm  his  cousin, 
Cecil  Harshaw." 

"Is  Mr.  Harshawill?" 

He  looked  foolish,  and  dropped  his  eyes. 
"  No,"  said  he.  "  He  was  well  last  night 
when  I  left  him  at  the  ranch."  Last  night ! 
He  had  come  a  hundred  miles  between  dark 
of  one  day  and  noon  of  the  next ! 

"  Your  cousin  takes  a  royal  way  of  bring- 
ing home  his  bride  —  by  proxy,"  I  said. 

"  Ah,  but  it 's  partly  my  fault,  you  know  " 
—  he  could  not  quell  a  sudden  shamefaced 
laugh,  —  "if  you  'd  kindly  allow  me  to  explain. 
I  shall  have  to  be  quite  brutally  frank ;  but 
Mrs.  Percifer  said  "  —  Here  he  lugged  in  a 
propitiatory  compliment,  which  sounded  no 
more  like  Mrs.  Percifer  than  it  fitted  me ;  but 
mistaking  my  smile  of  irony  for  one  of  en- 
couragement, he  babbled  on.  I  wish  I  could 
do  justice  to  his  "  charmin' "  accent  and  his 
perfectly  unstudied  manner  of  speech,  a  mix- 
ture of  British  and  American  colloquialisms, 
not  to  say  slang. 

"  It 's  like  this,  Mrs.  Daly.  A  man  ought  n't 
to  be  a  dog-in-the-manger  about  a  girl,  even 


THE  HARSHAW  BRIDE  187 

if  he  has  got  her  promise,  you  know.  If  he 
can't  get  a  move  on  and  marry  her  before  her 
hair  is  gray,  he  ought  to  step  out  and  give 
the  other  fellows  a  chance.  I  'm  not  speaking 
for  myself,  though  I  would  have  spoken  three 
years  ago  if  she  hadn't  been  engaged  to 
Micky  —  she 's  always  been  engaged  to  him, 
one  may  say.  And  I  accepted  the  fact ;  and 
when  I  came  over  here  and  took  a  share  in 
Micky's  ranch  I  meant  right  by  him,  and  God 
knows  I  meant  more  than  right  by  her. 
Was  n't  it  right  to  suppose  she  must  be  tre- 
mendously fond  of  him,  to  let  him  keep  her 
on  the  string  the  way  he  has  ?  They  've  been 
engaged  four  years  now.  And  was  it  any 
wonder  I  was  mad  with  Micky,  seeing  how  he 
was  loafing  along,  fooling  his  money  away, 
not  looking  ahead  and  denying  himself  as  a 
man  ought  who  's  got  a  nice  girl  waiting  for 
him?  I'm  quite  frank,  you  see;  but  when 
you  hear  what  an  ass  I've  made  of  myself, 
you  '11  not  begrudge  me  the  few  excuses  I 
have  to  offer.  All  I  tried  to  do  was  to  give 
Micky  a  leg  to  help  him  over  his  natural  diffi- 
culty —  laziness,  you  know.  He 's  not  a  bad 
sort  at  all,  only  he 's  slow,  and  it 's  hard  to  get 
him  to  look  things  square  in  the  face.  It  was 


188  THE  HARSHAW  BRIDE 

for  her  sake,  supposing  her  happiness  was 
bound  up  in  him,  that  I  undertook  to  boom 
the  marriage  a  bit.  But  Micky  -won't  boom 

worth  a  .  He 's  back  on  my  hands  now, 

and  what  in  Heaven's  name  I  'm  to  say  to 
her "  —  His  eloquence  failed  him  here,  and 
he  came  down  to  the  level  of  ordinary  conver- 
sation, with  the  remark,  "It's  a  facer,  by 
Jove ! " 

I  managed  not  to  smile.  If  he'd  under- 
taken, I  said,  to  "boom"  his  cousin's  mar- 
riage to  a  girl  he  liked  himself,  he  ought  at 
least  to  get  credit  for  disinterestedness ;  but 
so  few  good  acts  were  ever  rewarded  in  this 
world!  I  seemed  to  have  heard  that  it  was 
not  very  comfortable,  though  it  might  be 
heroic,  to  put  one 's  hand  between  the  tree 
and  the  bark. 

"  Ah,"  he  said  feelingly,  "  it 's  fierce  !  I 
never  was  so  rattled  in  my  life.  But  before 
you  give  me  too  much  credit  for  disinterest- 
edness, you  know,  I  must  tell  you  that  I  'm 
thinking  of  —  that  —  in  short,  I  've  a  mind  to 
speak  for  myself  now,  if  Micky  does  n't  come 
up  to  time." 

I  simply  looked  at  him,  and  he  blushed, 
but  went  on  more  explicitly.  "  He  could  have 


THE  HARSHAW  BRIDE  189 

married  her,  Mrs.  Daly,  any  time  these  three 
years  if  he  'd  had  the  pluck  to  think  so.  He  'd 
say,  'If  we  have  a  good  season  with  the 
horses,  I  '11  send  for  her  in  the  fall.'  We  'd 
have  our  usual  season,  and  then  he  'd  say,  '  It 
won't  do,  Cecy.'  And  in  the  spring  we  are 
always  as  poor  as  jack-rabbits,  and  so  he'd 
wait  till  the  next  fall.  I  got  so  mad  with  his 
infernal  coolness,  and  the  contrast  of  how 
things  were  and  how  she  must  think  they 
were !  Still,  I  knew  he  'd  be  good  to  her  if  he 
had  her  here,  and  he  'd  save  twice  as  much 
with  her  to  provide  for  as  he  ever  could  alone. 
I  used  to  hear  all  her  little  news,  poor  girl. 
She  had  lost  her  father,  and  there  were  tight 
times  at  home.  The  next  word  was  that  she 
was  going  for  a  governess.  Then  I  said, '  You 
ought  to  go  over  and  get  her,  or  else  send  for 
her  sharp.  You  are  as  ready  to  marry  her  now 
as  ever  you  will  be.' 

" i  I  'm  too  confounded  strapped,'  said  he. 
I  told  him  I  would  fix  all  that  if  he  would  go, 
or  write  her  to  come.  But  the  weeks  went  by, 
and  he  never  made  a  move.  And  there  were 
reasons,  Mrs.  Daly,  why  it  was  best  that  any 
one  who  cared  for  him  should  be  on  the 
ground.  Then  I  made  my  kick.  I  don't  be- 


190  THE  HARSHAW  BRIDE 

lieve  in  kicking,  as  a  rule ;  but  if  you  do  kick, 
kick  hard,  I  say.  c  If  you  don't  send  for  her, 
Micky,  I  '11  send  for  her  myself,'  I  said. 

"'What  for?'  said  he. 

" (  For  you,'  said  I,  l  if  you  '11  have  the 
manliness  to  step  up  and  claim  her,  and  treat 
her  as  you  ought.  If  not,  she  can  see  how 
things  are,  and  maybe  she  '11  want  a  change. 
You  may  not  think  you  are  wronging  her  and 
deceiving  her/  I  said,  '  but  that 's  what  you 
are;  and  if  you  won't  make  an  end  of  this 
situation'  (I  haven't  told  you,  and  I  can't 
tell  you,  the  whole  of  it,  Mrs.  Daly),  '  I  will 
end  it  myself  —  for  your  sake  and  for  her  sake 
and  for  my  own.'  And  I  warned  him  that  I 
should  have  a  word  to  say  to  her  if  he  did  n't 
occupy  the  field  of  vision  quite  promptly  after 
she  arrived.  i  One  of  us  will  meet  her  at  the 
train,'  said  I,  '  and  the  one  who  loves  her  will 
get  there  first.' 

"  Well,  I  'm  here,  and  he  was  cooking  him- 
self a  big  supper  when  I  left  him  at  the 
ranch.  It  was  a  simple  test,  Mrs.  Daly.  If  he 
scorned  to  abide  by  it,  he  might  at  least  have 
written  and  put  her  on  her  guard,  for  he 
knew  I  was  not  bluffing.  He  pawed  up  the 
ground  a  bit,  but  he  never  did  a  thing.  Then 


THE  HARSHAW  BRIDE  191 

I  cabled  her  just  the  question,  Would  she 
come?  and  she  answered  directly  that  she 
would.  So  I  wired  her  the  money.  I  signed 
myself  Harshaw,  and  I  told  Micky  what  I  'd 
done. 

"  And  whether  he  is  sulking  over  my  inter- 
ference, I  can't  say,  but  from  that  moment 
he  has  never  opened  his  mouth  to  me  on  the 
subject.  I  have  n't  a  blessed  notion  what  he 
means  to  do ;  judging  by  what  he  has  done, 
nothing,  I  should  say.  But  it  may  be  he 's 
only  waiting  to  give  me  the  full  strength  of 
the  situation,  seeing  it 's  one  of  my  own  con- 
triving. There  's  a  sort  of  rum  justice  in  it ; 
but  think  of  his  daring  to  insult  her  so,  for 
the  sake  of  punishing  me  ! 

"  Now,  what  am  I  to  say  to  her,  Mrs.  Daly  ? 
Am  I  to  make  a  clean  breast  of  it,  and  let  her 
know  the  true  and  peculiar  state  of  the  case, 
including  the  fact  that  I  'm  in  love  with  her 
myself  ?  Or  would  you  let  that  wait,  and  try 
to  smooth  things  over  for  Micky,  and  get  her 
to  give  him  another  chance?  There  was  no 
sign  of  his  moving  last  night ;  still,  he  may 
get  here  yet." 

The  young  man's  spirits  seemed  to  be  ris- 
ing as  he  neared  the  end  of  his  tale,  perhaps 


192  THE  HARSHAW  BRIDE 

because  he  could  see  that  it  looked  pretty 
black  for  "  Micky." 

"  If  one  could  only  know  what  he  does 
mean  to  do,  it  would  be  simpler,  wouldn't 
it?" 

I  agreed  that  it  would.  Then  I  made  the 
only  suggestion  it  occurred  to  me  to  offer  in 
the  case  —  that  he  should  go  to  his  hotel  and 
get  his  luncheon  or  breakfast,  for  I  doubted 
if  he  'd  had  any,  and  leave  me  to  meet  Miss 
Comyn,  and  say  to  her  whatever  a  kind  Provi- 
dence might  inspire  me  with.  My  husband 
would  call  for  him  and  fetch  him  up  to  din- 
ner, I  said ;  and  after  dinner,  if  Mr.  Michael 
Harshaw  had  not  arrived,  or  sent  some  satis- 
factory message,  he  could  cast  himself  into 
the  breach. 

"  And  I  'm  sorry  for  you,"  I  said ;  "  for  I 
don't  think  you  will  have  an  easy  time  of  it." 

"  She  can't  do  worse  than  hate  me,  Mrs. 
Daly ;  and  that 's  better  than  sending  me 
friendly  little  messages  in  her  letters  to 
Micky." 

I  wish  I  could  give  you  this  story  in  his 
own  words,  or  any  idea  of  his  extraordinary, 
joyous  naturalness,  and  his  air  of  preposter- 
ous good  faith  —  as  if  he  had  done  the  only 


THE  HARSHAW  BRIDE  193 

thing  conceivable  in  the  case.  It  was  as  con- 
vincing as  a  scene  in  comic  opera. 

"By  the  way,"  said  he,  "1  didn't  encum- 
ber myself  with  much  luggage  this  trip.  I 
have  nothing  but  the  clothes  I  stand  in." 

I  made  a  reckless  offer  of  my  husband's 
evening  things,  which  he  as  recklessly  ac- 
cepted, not  knowing  if  he  could  get  into 
them ;  but  I  thought  he  did  not  look  so  badly 
as  he  was,  in  his  sun-faded  corduroys,  the 
whole  of  him  from  head  to  foot  as  pale  as  a 
plaster  cast  with  dust,  except  his  bright  blue 
eyes,  which  had  hard,  dark  circles  around  them. 

"  The  train  is  coming,"  I  warned  him. 

"  She  is  coming !  A  la  bonne  heure  !  "  he 
cried,  and  was  off  on  a  run,  and  whistled  a 
car  that  was  going  up  Main  Street  to  the  na- 
tatorium  ;  and  I  knew  that  in  ten  minutes  he 
would  be  reveling  in  the  plunge,  while  I 
should  be  making  the  best  of  this  beautiful 
crisis  of  his  inventing  to  Miss  Comyn. 

My  dear,  they  are  the  prettiest  pair  !  Provi- 
dence, no  doubt,  designed  them  for  each 
other,  if  he  had  not  made  this  unpardonable 
break.  She  has  a  spirit  of  her  own,  has  Miss 
Kitty,  and  if  she  cried  up-stairs  alone  with 


194  THE  HARSHAW  BRIDE 

me,  —  tears  of  anger  and  mortification,  it 
struck  me,  rather  than  of  heart-grief,  —  I  will 
venture  she  shed  no  tears  before  him. 

As  Mr.  Michael  Harshaw  did  not  arrive, 
we  gave  Mr.  Cecil  his  opportunity,  as  pro- 
mised, of  speech  with  his  victim  and  judge. 
He  talked  to  her  in  the  little  sitting-room 
after  dinner  —  as  long  as  she  would  listen  to 
him,  apparently.  We  heard  her  come  flying 
out  with  a  sort  of  passionate  suddenness,  as 
if  she  had  literally  run  away  from  his  words. 
But  he  had  followed  her,  and  for  an  instant 
I  saw  them  together  in  the  hall.  His  poor 
young  face  was  literally  burning ;  perhaps  it 
was  only  sunburn,  but  I  fancied  she  had  been 
giving  him  a  metaphorical  drubbing  —  "  rag- 
ging," as  Tom  would  call  it  —  worse  than 
Lady  Anne  gave  Richard. 

She  was  still  in  a  fine  Shakespearean  temper 
when  I  carried  her  off  up-stairs.  Reserves  were 
impossible  between  us ;  her  right  to  any  pri- 
vacy in  her  own  affairs  had  been  given  away 
from  the  start ;  that  was  one  of  the  pleasing 
features  of  the  situation. 

"  Marry  him !  marry  him ! "  she  cried. 
"That  impertinent,  meddlesome  boy!  That 
false,  dishonorable  "  — 


THE  HARSHAW  BRIDE  195 

"  Go  slow,  dear,"  I  said.  "  I  don't  think 
he  's  quite  so  bad  as  that." 

"  And  what  do  I  want  with  him !  And 
what  do  you  think  he  tells  me,  Mrs.  Daly  ? 
And  whether  there 's  any  truth  in  him,  how 
do  I  know  ?  He  declares  it  was  not  Michael 
Harshaw  who  sent  for  me  at  all !  The  mes- 
sage, all  the  messages,  were  from  him.  In  that 
case  I  have  been  decoyed  over  here  to  marry 
a  man  who  not  only  never  asked  me  to  come, 
but  who  stood  by  and  let  me  be  hoaxed  in 
this  shameful  way,  and  now  leaves  me  to  be 
persecuted  by  this  one's  ridiculous  offers  of 
marriage,  —  as  if  I  belonged  to  all  or  any 
of  the  Harshaws,  whichever  one  came  first ! 
Michael  may  not  even  know  that  I  am  here," 
she  added  in  a  lower  key.  "  If  Cecil  Harshaw 
was  capable  of  doing  what  he  has  done,  by  his 
own  confession,  it  would  be  little  more  to  in- 
tercept my  answers  to  his  forgeries." 

That  was  true,  I  said.  It  was  quite  possible 
the  young  man  lied.  She  would,  of  course, 
give  Mr.  Michael  Harshaw  a  chance  to  tell  his 
story. 

"  I  cannot  believe,"  said  the  distracted  girl, 
"  that  Michael  would  lend  himself,  even  pas- 
sively, to  such  an  abominable  trick.  Could 
any  one  believe  it  —  of  his  worst  enemy  !  " 


196  THE  HARSHAW  BRIDE 

Impossible,  I  agreed.  She  must  believe  no- 
thing till  she  had  heard  from  her  lover. 

"  But  if  Michael  did  not  know  it,"  she  mused, 
with  a  piteous  blush,  "  then  Cecil  Harshaw 
must  have  sent  me  that  money  himself  —  the 
insolence  !  And  after  that  to  ask  me  to  marry 
him !  " 

Men  were  fearfully  primitive  still,  after  all 
that  we  had  done  for  them,  I  reminded  her, 
especially  in  their  notions  of  love-making. 
Their  intentions  were  generally  better  than 
their  methods.  No  great  harm  had  been  done, 
for  that  matter.  A  letter,  if  written  that  night, 
would  reach  Mr.  Michael  Harshaw  at  his 
ranch  not  later  than  the  next  night.  All  these 
troubles  could  wait  till  the  real  Mr.  Harshaw 
had  been  heard  from.  My  husband  would  see 
that  her  letter  reached  him  promptly,  and 
in  the  mean  time  Mr.  Cecil  need  not  be  told 
that  we  were  proving  his  little  story. 

I  was  forced  to  humor  her  own  theory  of 
her  case  ;  but  I  have  no  idea,  myself,  that  Cecil 
Harshaw  has  not  told  the  truth.  He  does  not 
look  like  a  liar,  to  begin  with,  and  how  silly 
to  palm  off  an  invention  for  to-day  which  to- 
morrow would  expose  ! 

Tom  is  still  talking  and  talking.   I  really 


THE  HARSHAW  BRIDE  197 

must  interfere  and  give  Mr.  Cecil  a  chance  to 
go.  It  is  quite  too  late  to  look  for  the  other 
one.  If  he  comes  at  this  hour,  there  is  nothing 
he  can  do  but  go  to  bed. 

.  .  .  Well,  the  young  man  has  gone,  and 
Tom  is  shutting  up  the  house,  and  I  hope  the 
bride  is  asleep,  though  I  doubt  it.  Have  I  told 
you  how  charming  she  is  ?  Not  so  discour- 
agingly  tall  or  so  classic  as  the  Du  Maurier 
goddess,  but  "  comfy,"  much  more  "  comfy," 
to  my  mind.  Her  nose  is  rudimentary,  rather, 
which  does  n't  prevent  her  having  a  mind  of 
her  own,  though  noses  are  said  to  have  it  all 
to  say  as  to  force  of  character.  Her  upper 
lip  has  the  most  fascinating  little  pout;  her 
chin  is  full  and  emotional  —  but  these  are 
emotional  times ;  and  there  is  a  beautiful  finish 
about  her  throat  and  hands  and  wrists.  She 
looks  more  dressed  in  a  shirt-waist,  in  which 
she  came  down  to  dinner,  her  trunk  not  having 
come,  than  some  of  us  do  in  the  best  we  have. 
Her  clothes  are  very  fresh  and  recent,  to  a 
woman  of  Idaho ;  but  she  does  not  wear  her 
pretty  ears  "  cachees,"  I  am  glad  to  say.  They 
are  very  pretty,  and  one  —  the  left  one  —  is 
burned  pure  crimson  from  sitting  next  the 
window  of  her  section  all  the  way  from  Omaha. 


198  THE  HARSHAW  BRIDE 

But  why  do  I  write  all  this  nonsense  at 
twelve  o'clock  at  night,  when  all  I  need  say 
by  way  of  description  is  that  we  want  her  to 
stay  with  us,  indefinitely  if  necessary,  and  let 
her  countrymen  and  lovers  go  to  —  their  ranch 
on  the  Snake  Kiver ! 

What  do  you  suppose  those  wretches  were 
arguing  about  in  the  dining-room  last  night, 
over  their  whisky  and  soda  ?  Sentiment  was 
"  not  in  it,"  as  they  would  say.  They  were 
talking  up  a  scheme  —  a  scheme  that  Tom 
has  had  in  mind  ever  since  he  first  saw  the 
Thousand  Springs  six  years  ago,  when  he  had 
the  Snake  River  placer-mining  fever.  It  was 
of  no  use  then,  because  electrical  transmission 
was  in  its  infancy,  its  long-distance  capacities 
undreamed  of.  But  Harshaw  was  down  there 
fishing  last  summer,  and  he  was  able  to  satisfy 
the  only  doubt  Tom  has  had  as  to  some  natural 
feature  of  the  scheme  —  I  don't  know  what ; 
but  Harshaw  has  settled  it,  and  is  as  wild  as 
Tom  himself  about  the  thing.  Also  he  wants 
to  put  into  it  all  the  money  he  can  recover  out 
of  his  cousin's  ranch.  (I  should  n't  think  the 
future  of  that  partnership  would  be  exactly 
happy !)  And  now  they  propose  to  take  hold 
of  it  together,  and  at  once. 


THE  HARSHAW  BRIDE  199 

Harshaw,  who,  it  seems,  is  enough  of  an 
engineer  to  run  a  level,  will  go  down  with 
Tom  and  make  the  preliminary  surveys.  Tom 
will  work  up  the  plans  and  estimates,  and  pre- 
pare a  report,  which  Harshaw  will  take  to 
London,  where  his  father  has  influence  in  the 
City,  and  the  sanguine  child  sees  himself  pla- 
cing it  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye. 

Tom  made  no  secret  with  me  of  their  scheme, 
and  I  fell  upon  him  at  once. 

"You  are  not  taking  advantage  of  that 
innocent  in  your  own  house !  "  I  said. 

"Do  you  take  him  for  an  innocent?  He 
has  about  as  shrewd  a  business  head  —  but  he 
has  no  money,  anyhow.  I  shall  have  to  put 
up  for  the  whole  trip." 

To  be  honest,  that  was  just  what  I  had 
feared ;  but  it  did  n't  sound  well  to  say  so. 
Tom  is  always  putting  up  for  things  that  never 
come  to  anything  —  for  us. 

He  tried  to  propitiate  me  with  the  news  that 
I  was  to  go  with  them. 

"  And  what  do  you  propose  to  do  with  our 
guest  ?  " 

"  Take  her  along.  Why  not  ?  It 's  as  hard 
a  trip  as  any  I  know  of,  for  the  distance.  Her 
troubles  won't  keep  her  awake,  nor  spoil  her 
appetite,  after  the  first  day's  ride." 


200  THE  HARSHAW  BRIDE 

"  I  don't  know  but  you  are  right,"  I  said ; 
"  but  wild  horses  could  n't  drag  her  if  he  goes. 
And  how  about  the  other  Harshaw  —  the  one 
she  has  promised  to  marry  ?  " 

"  She  is  n't  going  to  marry  him,  is  she  ?  I 
should  think  she  had  gone  about  far  enough, 
to  meet  that  fellow  halfway." 

Even  if  she  was  n't  going  to  marry  him,  I 
said,  it  might  be  civil  to  tell  him  so.  She  had 
listened  to  his  accuser ;  she  could  hardly  refuse 
to  listen  to  him. 

"  I  think,  myself,  the  dear  boy  has  skipped 
the  country,"  said  Tom,  who  is  unblushingly 
on  Cecil's  side.  "  If  he  has  n't,  the  letter  will 
fetch  him.  She  will  have  time  to  settle  his 
hash  before  we  start." 

"  Before  we  start !  And  when  do  you  pro- 
pose to  start  ?  "  —  I  should  n't  have  been  sur- 
prised if  he  had  said  "to-morrow,"  but  he 
considerately  gives  me  until  Thursday. 

The  truth  is,  Lou,  it  is  years  and  years  since 
I  have  been  on  one  of  these  wild-goose  chases 
with  Tom.  I  have  no  more  faith  in  this  goose 
than  in  any  of  the  other  ones,  but  who  wants 
to  be  forever  playing  the  part  of  Wisdom 
"  that  cries  in  the  streets  and  no  man  regards 
her  "  ?  One  might  as  well  be  merry  over  one's 


THE  HARSHAW  BRIDE  201 

folly,  to  say  nothing  of  the  folly  of  other  peo- 
ple. I  confess  I  am  dying  to  go  ;  but  of  course 
nothing  can  be  decided  till  the  recreant  bride- 
groom has  been  heard  from. 

This  morning,  when  I  went  to  Kitty's  door 
for  her  letter,  I  found  she  had  n't  written  it. 
She  made  me  come  in  while  she  "  confessed," 
as  she  said. 

"  I  could  n't  submit  to  the  facts  last  night," 
she  faltered.  "  I  had  to  pretend  that  I  thought 
he  did  n't  know ;  but  of  course  he  does  —  he 
must.  I  wrote  him  from  home  before  I  started, 
and  again  from  New  York.  I  can't  suppose 
that  Cecil  would  intercept  my  letters.  He  is 
not  a  stage  villain.  No  ;  I  must  face  the  truth. 
But  how  can  I  ever  tell  it  to  mamma  !  " 

"  We  will  arrange  all  that  by  and  by,"  I 
assured  her  (but  I  don't  see  myself  how  she 
can  tell  the  truth  about  this  transaction  to  any- 
body, her  mother  least  of  all,  who  would  be 
simply  wild  if  she  knew  how  the  girl  has  been 
betrayed  and  insulted,  among  utter  strangers) ; 
meantime  I  begged  her  to  promise  me  that  she 
would  not  waste  — 

She  interrupted  me  quickly.  "  I  have  wasted 
enough,  I  think.  No ;  don't  be  afraid  for  me, 
Mrs.  Daly,  and  for  Heaven's  sake  don't  pity 
me!" 


202  THE  HARSHAW  BRIDE 

I  had  just  written  the  above  when  Tom 
came  in  and  informed  me  that  the  "  regular 
candidate  had  arrived,"  and  requested  to  know 
if  we  were  to  have  them  both  to  dinner,  or  if 
the  "  dark  horse  "  was  to  be  told  he  need  n't 
come. 

"  Of  course  he  can't  come !  "  I  screamed ; 
"  let  him  keep  himself  as  dark  as  possible." 

"  Then  you  need  n't  expect  me,"  said  Tom. 
"  Cecy  and  I  will  dine  at  the  Louvre."  And  I 
would  give  a  good  deal  if  I  could  dine  there 
too,  or  any  where  but  with  this  extraordinary 
pair  of  lovers. 

I  went  out  to  meet  the  real  Harshaw,  em- 
barrassed with  the  guilty  consciousness  of  hav- 
ing allowed  my  sympathies  to  go  astray ;  for 
though  in  theory  I  totally  disapprove  of  Cecil 
Harshaw,  personally  I  defy  anybody  not  to  like 
him.  I  will  except  prejudiced  persons,  like  his 
cousin  and  the  lady  he  is  so  bent  on  making, 
by  hook  or  by  crook,  a  Mrs.  Harshaw. 

Mr.  Harshaw  the  first  (and  last  to  arrive) 
has  shaved  his  mustache  quite  recently,  I 
should  say,  and  the  nakedness  of  his  upper  lip 
is  not  becoming.  I  wonder  if  she  ever  saw 
him  with  his  mouth  bare?  I  wonder  if  she 
would  have  accepted  him  if  she  had  ?  He  was 


THE  HARSHAW  BRIDE  203 

so  funny  about  his  cousin,  the  promoter;  so 
absolutely  unconscious  of  his  own  asinine  po- 
sition. He  argued  very  sensibly  that  if,  after 
waiting  four  years  for  him,  she  could  n't  wait 
one  day  longer,  she  must  have  changed  in  her 
feelings  very  decidedly,  and  that  was  a  fact  it 
behooved  him  to  find  out.  Better  now  than 
later.  I  think  he  has  found  out. 

Possibly  he  was  nicer  four  years  ago.  Men 
get  terribly  down  at  heel,  mentally,  morally, 
and  mannerly,  poking  off  by  themselves  in 
these  out-of-the-way  places.  But  she  has  been 
seeing  people  and  steadily  making  growth 
since  she  gave  him  her  promise  at  eighteen. 
The  promise  itself  has  helped  to  develop  her. 
It  must  have  been  a  knot  of  perpetual  doubt 
and  self -questioning.  No  one  need  tell  me  that 
she  really  loves  him ;  if  she  did,  if  she  had,  she 
could  not  take  his  treatment  of  her  like  this. 
Perhaps  the  family  circumstances  constrained 
her.  They  may  have  thought  Harshaw  had  a 
fortune  in  the  future  of  his  ranch,  with  its 
river  boundary  of  placer-mines.  English  girls 
are  obedient,  and  English  mammas  are  practi- 
cal, we  read. 

She  is  practical,  and  she  is  beginning  to  look 
her  situation  in  the  face. 


204  THE  HARSHAW  BRIDE 

"  I  shall  want  you  to  help  me  find  some  way 
to  return  that  money,"  she  said  to  me  later, 
with  an  angry  blush  —  "  that  money  which 
Cecil  Harshaw  kindly  advanced  me  for  my  jour- 
ney. I  shall  hate  every  moment  of  my  life  till 
that  debt  is  paid.  But  for  the  insult  I  never 
can  repay  him,  never! 

"  We  are  a  large  family  at  home  —  four 
girls  besides  me,  and  three  boys ;  and  boys  are 
so  expensive.  I  cannot  ask  mamma  to  help 
me ;  indeed,  I  was  hoping  to  help  her.  I  should 
have  gone  for  a  governess  if  I  had  not  been 
duped  into  coming  over  here.  Would  there  be 
any  one  in  this  town,  do  you  think,  who  might 
want  a  governess  for  her  children  ?  I  have  a 
few  '  accomplishments,'  and  though  I  Ve  not 
been  trained  for  a  teacher,  I  am  used  to  chil- 
dren, and  they  like  me,  when  I  want  them  to." 

I  thought  this  a  good  idea  for  the  future  ; 
it  would  take  time  to  work  it  up.  But  for  the 
present  an  inspiration  came  to  me,  —  on  the 
strength  of  something  Tom  had  said,  —  that  he 
wished  I  could  draw  or  paint,  because  he  could 
make  an  artist  useful  on  this  trip,  he  conde- 
scended to  say,  if  he  could  lay  his  hand  on 
one.  All  the  photographs  of  the  Springs,  it 
seems,  have  the  disastrous  effect  of  dwarfing 


THE  HARSHAW  BRIDE  205 

their  height  and  magnitude.  There  is  a  lagoon 
and  a  weedy  island  directly  beneath  them,  and 
in  the  camera  pictures  taken  from  in  front,  the 
reeds  and  willows  look  gigantic  in  the  fore- 
ground, and  the  Springs  —  out  of  all  propor- 
tion — insignificant.  This  would  be  fatal  to  our 
schemers'  claims  as  to  the  volume  of  water  they 
are  supposed  to  furnish  for  an  electrical  power 
plant  to  supply  the  Silver  City  mines,  one 
hundred  miles  away.  Hence  the  demand  of 
Science  for  Art,  with  her  point  of  view. 

"  Just  the  thing  for  her,"  I  thought.  "  She 
can  draw  and  water-color,  of  course ;  all  Eng- 
lish girls  do."  And  I  flew  and  proposed  it  to 
Tom.  "  Pay  her  well  for  her  pictures,  and 
she  '11  make  your  Thousand  Springs  look  like 
Ten  Thousand."  (That  was  only  my  little  joke, 
dear ;  I  am  always  afraid  of  your  conscience.) 
But  the  main  thing  is  settled  ;  we  have  found 
a  way  of  inducing  Kitty  to  go.  Tom  was 
charmed  with  my  intelligence,  and  Kitty,  poor 
child,  would  go  anywhere,  in  any  conceivable 
company,  to  get  even  with  Cecil  Harshaw  on 
that  hateful  money  transaction.  When  I  told 
her  she  would  have  to  submit  to  his  presence 
on  the  trip,  she  shrugged  her  shoulders. 

"  It's  one  of '  life 's  little  ironies,'  "  she  said. 


206  THE  HARSHAW  BRIDE 

"  And,"  I  added,  "  we  shall  have  to  pass  the 
ranch  that  was  to  have  been"  — 

"  Oh,  well,  that  is  another.  I  must  get  used 
to  the  humorous  side  of  my  situation.  One 
suffers  most,  perhaps,  through  thinking  how 
other  people  will  think  one  suffers.  If  they 
would  only  give  one  credit  for  a  little  common 
sense,  to  say  nothing  of  pride  !  " 

You  see,  she  will  wear  no  willows  for  him. 
We  shah1  get  on  beautifully,  I  've  no  doubt, 
even  with  the  "  irony  "  of  the  situation  rubbed 
in,  as  it  inevitably  will  be,  in  the  course  of 
this  journey. 

Tom  solemnly  assures  me  that  the  other  Har- 
shaw's  name  is  not  Micky,  but  "  Denis ;  "  and 
he  explains  his  having  got  into  the  legislature 
(quite  unnecessarily,  so  far  as  I  am  concerned) 
on  the  theory  that  he  is  too  lazy  even  to  make 
enemies. 

I  shall  get  the  governess  project  started,  so 
it  can  be  working  while  we  are  away.  If  you 
know  of  anybody  who  would  be  likely  to  want 
her,  and  could  pay  her  decently,  and  would 
know  how  to  treat  a  nursery  governess  who  is 
every  bit  a  lady,  but  who  is  not  above  her 
business  (I  take  for  granted  she  is  not, 
though  of  course  I  don't  know),  do,  pray,  speak 


THE  HARSHAW  BRIDE  207 

a  word  for  her.  I  '11  answer  for  it  she  is  bright 
enough  ;  better  not  mention  that  she  is  pretty. 
There  must  be  a  hundred  chances  for  her  there 
to  one  in  Idaho.  We  are  hardly  up  to  the 
resident-governess  idea  as  yet.  It  is  thought 
to  be  wanting  in  public  spirit  for  parents  not 
to  patronize  the  local  schools.  If  they  are  not 
good  enough  for  the  rich  families,  the  poor 
families  feel  injured,  and  want  to  know  the 
reason  why. 

To  return  to  these  Harshaws.  Does  it  not 
strike  you  that  the  English  are  more  original, 
not  to  say  queer,  than  we  are ;  more  indiffer- 
ent to  the  opinions  of  others  —  certain  others  ? 
They  don't  hesitate  to  do  a  thing  because  on 
the  face  of  it  it 's  perfectly  insane.  Witness 
the  lengths  they  go,  these  young  fellows  out 
here,  for  anything  on  earth  they  happen  to 
set  their  crazy  hearts  upon.  The  young  fancy 
bloods,  I  mean,  who  have  the  love  of  sport 
developed  through  generations  of  tough  old 
hard-riding,  high-playing,  deep-drinking  an- 
cestors ;  the  "  younger  sons,"  who  have  in- 
herited the  sense  of  having  the  bah1  at  their 
feet,  without  having  inherited  the  ball.  They 
are  certainly  great  fun,  but  I  should  hate  to 
be  responsible  for  them. 


208  THE  HARSHAW  BRIDE 

I  note  what  you  say  about  my  tendency  to 
slang,  and  how  it  "  seems  to  grow  upon  me." 
It  "  seems  "  to,  alas !  for  the  simple  reason, 
I  fear,  that  it  does.  I  can  remember  when  I 
used  carefully  to  corral  all  my  slang  words 
in  apologetic  quote-marks,  as  if  they  were 
range-cattle  to  be  fenced  out  from  the  home 
herd  —  our  mother-tongue  which  we  brought 
with  us  from  the  East,  and  which  you  have 
preserved  in  all  its  conscientious  purity.  But  I 
give  it  up.  I  hardly  know  any  longer,  in  re- 
gard to  my  own  speech,  which  are  my  native 
expressions  and  which  are  the  wild  and  woolly 
ones  adopted  off  the  range.  It  will  serve  all 
human  purposes  of  a  woman  irretrievably  mar- 
ried into  the  West.  If  the  worst  come  to  the 
worst,  I  can  make  a  virtue  of  necessity  and  be- 
come a  member  of  the  "  American  Dialect 
Society  "  —  a  member  in  good  standing. 

This  is  the  morning  of  our  glorious  start.  I 
am  snatching  a  few  words  with  you  while  the 
men  are  packing  the  wagon,  which  stands  be- 
fore the  door.  What  a  sensation  it  would 
make  drawn  up  in  front  of  —  Mrs.  Percif er's, 
for  instance,  in  Park  Avenue  !  Here  no  one 
turns  the  head  to  look  at  it. 


THE  HARSHAW  BRIDE  209 

I  told  Tom  he  need  make  no  concessions  to 
the  fact  that  he  is  to  have  two  fairly  well- 
dressed  women  along.  We  will  go  as  they  go, 
without  any  fuss,  or  they  may  leave  us  at  home. 
I  despise  those  condescending,  make-believe- 
rough-it  trips,  with  which  men  flatter  women 
into  thinking  themselves  genuine  campaigners. 
Consequently  our  outfit  is  a  big,  bony  ranch- 
team  and  a  Shuttler  wagon  with  the  double- 
sides  in  ;  spring  seats,  of  course,  and  the  bot- 
tom well  bedded  down  with  tents  and  rolls  of 
blankets.  We  don't  go  out  of  our  way  to  be 
uncomfortable;  that  is  the  tenderfoot's  pet 
weakness.  The  "  kitchen-box  "  and  the  "  grab- 
box  "  sit  shoulder  to  shoulder  in  the  back  of 
the  wagon.  The  stovepipe,  tied  with  rope  in 
sections,  keeps  up  a  lively  clatter  in  concert 
with  the  jiggling  of  the  tinware  and  the 
thumps  and  bumps  of  the  camp-stove,  which 
has  swallowed  its  own  feet,  and,  by  the  internal 
sounds,  does  n't  seem  to  have  digested  them. 

I  spent  last  evening  covering  the  canteens 
with  canvas.  The  maiden  was  quite  cheerful, 
sorting  her  drawing-materials  and  packing  her 
colors  and  sketch-blocks.  She  laughs  at  every- 
thing Tom  says,  whether  she  sees  the  point 
or  not,  and  most  when  there  is  none  to  see. 


210  THE  HARSHAW  BRIDE 

Tom  will  be  cook,  because  he  prefers  his  own 
messing  to  any  of  ours,  and  we  can't  spare 
room  in  the  wagon  for  a  regular  camp  chef. 
Mr.  Harshaw  is  the  "  swamper,"  because  he 
makes  himself  useful  doing  things  my  lord 
doesn't  like  to  do.  And  Kitty  is  not  Miss 
Co-myn,  as  we  called  it,  but  Miss  "  Cummin," 
as  they  call  it,  —  "  the  Comin'  woman,"  Tom 
calls  her.  Mr.  Billings,  the  teamster,  completes 
our  party. 

Sept. Never  mind  the  date.  This  is 

to-morrow  morning,  and  we  are  at  Walter's 
Ferry.  It  seems  a  week  since  we  left  Bisuka. 
We  started  yesterday  on  the  flank  of  a  dust- 
storm,  and  soon  were  with  the  main  column, 
the  wind  pursuing  us  and  hurling  the  sweep- 
ings of  the  road  into  the  backs  of  our  necks. 
The  double-sides  raised  us  out  of  the  worst 
of  the  dust,  else  I  think  we  should  have  been 
smothered.  It  was  a  test  of  our  young  lady's 
traveling  manners.  She  kept  her  head  down 
and  her  mouth  shut ;  but  when  I  shrieked  at 
her  to  ask  how  she  was  standing  it,  she  plucked 
her  dusty  veil  from  between  her  lips  and  smiled 
for  answer. 

We  two  have  the  back   seat,  Tom  sits  in 


THE  HARSHAW  BRIDE  211 

front  with  Billings,  and  the  "  swamper  "  sits 
anywhere  on  the  lumps  and  bumps  which  our 
baggage  makes,  covered  by  the  canvas  wagon- 
sheet.  He  might  have  ridden  his  horse  — 
everybody  supposed  he  would ;  but  that  would 
have  separated  him  from  the  object  of  his  ex- 
istence ;  the  object  sternly  ignoring  him,  and 
riding  for  miles  with  her  face  turned  away, 
her  hand  to  her  hat,  which  the  wind  persist- 
ently snatched  at.  It  was  her  wide-brimmed 
sketching-hat  —  rather  a  daring  creation  but 
monstrously  becoming,  and  I  had  persuaded 
her  to  wear  it,  the  morning  being  delusively 
clear,  thinking  we  were  to  have  one  of  our 
midsummer  scorchers  that  would  have  burned 
her  fair  English  face  to  a  blister. 

Mr.  Harshaw  thought  she  would  be  tired, 
wearing  her  hand  continually  in  the  air,  and 
suggested  various  mechanical  substitutes,  —  a 
string  attached  to  the  hat-trimming,  a  scarf 
tied  over  her  head ;  but  a  snubbing  was  all  the 
reward  he  got  for  his  sympathy. 

"  When  this  hand  is  tired  I  take  the  other 
one,"  she  said  airily. 

We  lunched  at  Ten  Mile,  by  the  railroad 
track.  Do  you  remember  that  desolate  place  ? 
The  Oregon  Short  Line  used  to  leave  us  there 


212  THE  HARSHAW  BRIDE 

at  a  little  station  called  Kuna.  There  is  no 
Kuna  now ;  the  station-house  is  gone ;  the 
station-keeper's  little  children  are  buried  be- 
tween four  stakes  on  the  bare  hill  —  diphthe- 
ria, I  think  it  was.  Miss  Kitty  asked  what  the 
stakes  were  there  for.  Tom  did  n't  like  to  tell 
her,  so  he  said  some  traveler  had  made  a 
"  cache  "  there  of  something  he  could  n't  carry 
with  him,  and  the  stakes  were  to  mark  the 
spot  till  his  return. 

"  And  will  nobody  disturb  the  cache  ? " 
asked  Miss  Kitty.  I  could  n't  bear  to  hear 
them.  "  They  are  graves,"  I  whispered.  "  Two 
little  children  —  the  station-keeper's  —  all  they 
had."  And  she  asked  no  more  questions. 

Mr.  Harshaw  had  got  possession  of  the  can- 
teen, and  so  was  able  to  serve  the  maiden,  both 
when  she  drank  and  when  she  held  out  her  rosy 
fingers  to  be  sprinkled,  he  tilting  a  little  water 
on  them  slowly  —  with  such  provoking  slow- 
ness that  she  chid  him ;  then  he  let  it  come  in 
gulps,  and  she  chid  him  more,  for  spattering 
her  shoes.  She  could  play  my  Lady  Disdain 
very  prettily,  only  she  is  something  too  much 
in  earnest  at  present  for  the  game  to  be  a 
pretty  one  to  watch.  I  feel  like  calling  her 
down  from  her  pedestal  of  virgin  wrath,  if 


THE  HARSHAW  BRIDE  213 

only  for  the  sake  of  us  peaceful  old  folk,  who 
don't  care  to  be  made  the  stamping-ground  for 
their  little  differences. 

The  horses  were  longer  at  their  lunch  than 
we,  and  Miss  Kitty  requested  her  traveling- 
bag.  "  And  now,"  she  said,  "  I  will  get  rid  of 
this  fiend  of  a  hat,"  whereas  she  had  steadily 
protested  for  miles  that  she  did  n't  mind  it  in 
the  least.  She  took  out  of  her  bag  a  steamer- 
cap,  and  when  she  had  put  it  on  I  could  see 
that  poor  Harshaw  dared  not  trust  himself  to 
look  at  her,  her  fair  face  exposed,  and  so  very 
fair,  in  its  tender,  soft  coloring,  against  that 
grim,  wind-beaten  waste  of  dust  and  sage. 

I  shall  skip  the  scenery  on  the  road  to  Wal- 
ter's Ferry,  partly  because  we  could  n't  see  it 
for  the  dust ;  and  if  we  had  seen  it,  I  would 
not  waste  it  upon  you,  an  army  woman.  But 
Walter's  Ferry  was  a  hard-looking  place  when 
we  crawled  in  last  night  out  of  the  howling, 
dirt-throwing  wind. 

The  little  hand-raised  poplars  about  the 
ferry-house  were  shivering  and  tugging  and 
straining  their  thin  necks  in  the  gale,  the  win- 
dows so  loaded  with  dust  that  we  could  barely 
see  if  there  were  lights  inside.  We  hooted 
and  we  howled,  —  the  men  did,  —  and  the 


214  THE  HARSHAW  BRIDE 

ferry-keeper  came  out  and  stared  at  us  in 
blank  amazement  that  we  should  be  wanting 
supper  and  beds.  As  if  we  could  have  wanted 
anything  else  at  that  place  except  to  cross  the 
river,  which  we  don't  do.  We  go  up  on  this 
side.  We  came  down  the  hill  merely  to  sleep 
at  the  ferry-house,  the  night  being  too  bad  for 
a  road  camp. 

The  one  guest-room  at  the  Ferry  that  could 
be  called  private  was  given  to  Kitty  and  me  ; 
but  we  used  it  as  a  sitting-room  till  bedtime, 
there  being  nowhere  else  to  go  but  into  the 
common  room  where  the  teamsters  congregate. 

We  stood  and  looked  at  each  other,  in  our 
common  disguise  of  dust,  and  tried  to  find  our 
feet  and  other  members  that  came  awake  grad- 
ually after  the  long  stupor  of  the  ride.  There 
was  a  heap  of  sage-brush  on  the  hearth  laid 
ready  for  lighting.  I  touched  a  match  to  it, 
and  Kitty  dropped  on  her  knees  in  front  of 
its  riotous  warmth  and  glow.  Suddenly  she 
sprang  up  and  stared  about  her,  sniffing  and 
catching  her  breath.  I  had  noticed  it  too ;  it 
fairly  took  one  by  the  throat,  the  gruesome 
odor. 

"  What  is  this  beastly  smell  ?  "  She  spoke 
right  out,  as  our  beloved  English  do.  Tom 


THE  HARSHAW  BRIDE  215 

came  in  at  that  moment,  and  she  turned  upon 
him  as  though  he  were  the  author  o£  our 
misery. 

"  What  has  happened  in  this  horrid  room  ? 
We  can't  stay  here,  you  know  !  "  The  propo- 
sition admitted  of  no  argument.  She  refused 
to  draw  another  breath  except  through  her 
pocket-handkerchief. 

By  this  time  I  had  recognized  the  smell. 
"  It 's  nothing  but  sage-brush,"  I  cried ;  "  the 
cleanest,  sterilest  thing  that  grows !  " 

"It  may  be  clean,"  said  Kitty,  "but  it 
smells  like  the  bottomless  pit.  I  must  have  a 
breath  of  fresh  air."  The  only  window  in  the 
room  was  a  four-pane  sash  fixed  solid  in  the 
top  of  the  outside  door.  Tom  said  we  should 
have  the  sweepings  of  the  Snake  River  valley 
in  there  in  one  second  if  we  opened  that  door. 
But  we  did,  and  the  wind  played  havoc  with 
our  fire,  and  half  the  country  blew  in,  as  he 
had  said,  and  with  it  came  Cecil,  his  head  bent 
low,  his  arms  full  of  rugs  and  dust-cloaks. 

"  You  angel ! "  I  cried,  "  have  you  been 
shaking  those  things  ?  " 

"  He  's  given  himself  the  hay-fever,"  said 
Tom,  heartlessly  watching  him  while  he  sneezed 
and  sneezed,  and  wept  dust  into  his  handker- 
chief. 


216  THE  HARSHAW  BRIDE 

"  Does  n't  the  man  do  those  things  ?  "  Miss 
Kitty  whispered. 

"  What,  our  next  Populist  governor  ?  Not 
much  !  "  Tom  replied.  Kitty  of  course  did  not 
understand;  it  was  hopeless  to  begin  upon 
that  theme  —  of  our  labor  aristocracy ;  so  we 
sent  the  men  away,  and  made  ourselves  as 
presentable  as  we  could  for  supper. 

I  need  not  dwell  upon  it ;  it  was  the  usual 
Walter's  Ferry  supper.  The  little  woman  who 
cooked  it  —  the  third  she  had  cooked  that 
evening  —  served  it  as  well,  plodding  back 
and  forth  from  the  kitchen  stove  to  the  dining- 
room  table,  a  little  white-headed  toddler  cling- 
ing to  her  skirts,  and  whining  to  be  put  to 
bed.  Out  of  regard  for  her  look  of  general 
discouragement  we  ate  what  we  could  of  the 
food  without  yielding  to  the  temptation  to  joke 
about  it,  which  was  a  cross  to  Tom  at  least. 

"  Do  you  know  how  the  farmers  sow  their 
seed  in  the  Snake  River  valley?"  he  asked 
Miss  Kitty.  She  raised  eyes  of  confiding  in- 
quiry to  his  face. 

"  They  prepare  the  land  in  the  usual  way ; 
then  they  go  about  five  miles  to  windward  of 
the  ploughed  field  and  let  fly  their  seed ;  the 
wind  does  the  rest.  It  would  be  of  no  use, 


THE  HAESHAW  BRIDE  217 

you  see,  to  sow  it  on  the  spot  where  it 's  meant 
to  He ;  they  would  have  to  go  into  the  next 
county  to  look  for  their  crop,  top-soil  and  ah1." 
Now  whenever  Tom  makes  a  statement  Miss 
Kitty  looks  first  at  me  to  see  how  I  am  tak- 
ing it. 

It  is  a  fair,  pale  morning,  as  stiU  as  a  pic- 
ture, after  last  night's  orgy  of  wind  and  dust. 
The  maiden  is  making  her  first  sketch  on 
American  soil  —  of  the  rope-ferry,  with  the 
boat  on  this  side.  She  is  seated  in  perfect  un- 
consciousness on  an  inverted  pine  box — empty, 
I  trust  —  which  bears  the  startling  announce- 
ment, in  legible  lettering  on  its  side,  that  it 
holds  "  500  smokeless  nitro-powder  cartridges." 
Now  she  looks  up  disgusted,  to  see  the  boat 
swing  off  and  slowly  warp  over  to  the  other 
side.  The  picturesque  blocks  and  cables  in  the 
foreground  have  hopelessly  changed  position, 
and  continue  changing ;  but  she  consoles  her- 
self by  making  marginal  notes  of  the  passen- 
gers returning  by  the  boat,  —  a  six-horse 
freight-team  from  Silver  City,  and  a  band  of 
horses  driven  by  two  realistic  cow-boys  from 
anywhere.  The  driver  of  the  freight-team  has 
a  young  wildcat  aboard,  half  starved,  haggard, 


218  THE  HARSHAW  BRIDE 

and  crazed  with  captivity.  He  stops,  and  pulls 
out  his  wretched  pet.  The  cow-boys  stop ; 
everybody  stops ;  they  make  a  ring,  while  the 
dogs  of  the  ferry-house  are  invited  to  step  up 
and  examine  for  themselves.  The  little  cat 
spits  and  rages  at  the  end  of  its  blood-stained 
rope.  It  is  not  a  pretty  show,  and  I  am  pro- 
voked with  our  men  for  not  turning  their  backs 
upon  it. 

Sunday,  at  Broadlands.  From  Walter's 
Ferry,  day  before  yesterday,  we  climbed  back 
upon  the  main  road,  which  crosses  the  plateau 
of  the  Snake,  cutting  off  a  great  bend  of  the 
river,  to  see  it  again  far  below  in  the  bottom 
of  the  Grand  Canon. 

The  alkali  growth  is  monotonous  here ;  but 
there  was  a  world  of  beauty  and  caprice  in  the 
forms  of  the  seed-pods  dried  upon  their  stalks. 
Most  of  these  pretty  little  purses  were  empty. 
Their  treasure  went,  like  the  savings  of  a 
maiden  aunt,  when  the  idle  wind  got  hold  of 
it.  There  is  an  almost  humorous  ingenuity  in 
the  pains  Nature  has  taken  to  secure  the  pro- 
pagation of  some  of  the  meanest  of  her  plant- 
children.  The  most  worthless  little  vagabond 
seeds  have  wings  or  fans  to  fly  with,  or  self- 


THE  HARSHAW  BRIDE  219 

acting  bomb-receptacles  that  burst  and  empty 
their  contents  (which  nobody  wants)  upon  the 
liberal  air,  or  claws  or  prickers  to  catch  on 
with  to  anything  that  goes.  And  once  they 
have  caught  on,  they  are  harder  to  get  rid  of 
than  a  Canadian  "  quarter." 

"  And  do  you  call  this  a  desert  ? "  cries 
Miss  Kitty.  "  Why,  millions  of  creatures  live 
here !  Look  at  the  footprints  of  all  the  little 
beasties.  They  must  eat  and  drink." 

"  That  is  the  cheek  of  us  humans,"  said 
Tom.  "  We  call  our  forests  solitudes  because 
we  have  never  shown  up  there  before.  Pre- 
cious little  we  were  missed.  This  desert  sub- 
sisted its  own  population,  and  asked  no  favors 
of  irrigation,  till  man  came  and  overstocked  it, 
and  upset  its  domestic  economies.  When  the 
sheep-men  and  the  cattle-men  came  with  their 
foreign  mouths  to  fill,  the  wild  natives  had  to 
scatter  and  forage  for  food,  and  trot  back  and 
forth  to  the  river  for  drink.  They  have  to 
travel  miles  now  to  one  they  went  before. 
Hence  all  these  desert  thoroughfares." 

And  he  showed  us  in  the  dust  the  track  of 
a  lizard,  a  kangaroo-mouse,  and  a  horned  toad. 
We  could  see  for  ourselves  Bre'r  Jack-rabbit 
and  Sis'  Gopher  skipping  away  in  the  grease- 


220  THE  HARSHAW  BRIDE 

wood.  The  horses  and  cattle  had  their  own 
broad-beaten  roads  converging  from  far  away 
toward  an  occasional  break  in  the  canon  wall, 
where  the  thirsty  tracks  went  down. 

We  plodded  along,  and  having  with  much 
deliberation  taken  the  wrong  road,  we  found 
ourselves  about  nightfall  at  the  bottom  of 
the  canon,  in  a  perfect  cul-de-sac.  The  bluffs 
ahead  of  us  crowded  close  to  the  river,  stretch- 
ing their  rocky  knees  straight  down  into  deep 
water,  and  making  no  lap  at  all  for  our  wagon 
to  go  over.  And  now,  with  this  sweet  prospect 
before  us,  it  came  on  steadily  to  rain.  The 
men  made  camp  in  the  slippery  darkness, 
while  we  sat  in  the  wagon,  warm  and  dry,  and 
thanked  our  stars  there  were  still  a  few  things 
left  that  men  could  do  without  our  aid  or 
competition.  Presently  a  lantern  flashed  out, 
and  spots  of  light  shifted  over  them  as  they 
slaved  —  pounding  tent-pegs,  and  scraping 
stones  away  from  places  where  our  blankets 
were  to  be  spread,  hacking  and  hewing  among 
the  wet  willows,  and  grappling  with  stovepipes 
and  tent-poles;  and  the  harder  they  worked 
the  better  their  spirits  seemed  to  be. 

"I  wish  some  of  the  people  who  used  to 
know  Cecil  Harshaw  in  England  could  see  him 
now,"  said  Kitty. 


THE  HARSHAW  BRIDE  221 

"  What  did  he  do  in  England  ?  "  I  asked. 

"He  didn't  hammer  stovepipes  and  carry 
kitchen-boxes  and  cut  fire-wood,  you  know." 

"  Don't  you  like  to  see  men  use  their  mus- 
cle?" I  asked  her.  "Very  few  of  them  are 
reflective  to  any  purpose  at  his  age." 

"  Why,  how  old,  or  how  young,  do  you  take 
him  to  be  ?  " 

"  I  think  you  spoke  of  him  as  a  boy,  if  I 
remember." 

"  If  I  called  him  a  boy,  it  was  out  of  char- 
ity for  his  behavior.  He 's  within  six  months 
of  my  own  age." 

"And  you  don't  call  yourself  a  girl  any 
longer  ! "  I  laughed. 

"  It 's  always  ( girls'  and  'men,'  "  she  said. 
"  If  Cecil  Harshaw  is  not  a  man  now,  he  never 
will  be." 

I  didn't  know,  I  said,  what  the  point  at 
issue  was  between  us.  /  thought  Cecil  Har- 
shaw was  very  much  a  man,  as  men  go,  and  I 
saw  nothing,  frankly,  so  very  far  amiss  with 
his  behavior. 

"  It 's  very  kind  of  you,  Mrs.  Daly,  to 
defend  him,  I  am  sure.  I  suppose  he  could 
do  no  less  than  propose  to  me,  after  he  had 
brought  me  out  to  marry  a  man  who  did  n't 


222  THE  HARSHAW  BRIDE 

appear  to  be  quite  ready ;  and  if  it  had  to  be 
done,  it  was  best  to  do  it  quickly." 

So  that  was  what  she  had  been  threshing 
out  between  whiles  ?  I  might  have  tried  to 
answer  her.  but  now  the  little  tent  among;  the 

»  o 

willows  began  to  glow  with  fire  and  candle- 
light, and  a  dark  shape  loomed  against  it.  It 
was  Cecil  Harshaw,  bareheaded,  with  an  um- 
brella, coming  to  escort  us  in  to  supper. 

I  never  saw  such  a  pair  of  roses  as  Kitty 
wore  in  her  cheeks  that  night,  nor  the  girl 
herself  in  such  a  gale.  Tom  gave  me  a  trium- 
phant glance  across  the  table,  as  if  to  say,  See 
how  the  medicine  works  !  It  was  either  the 
beginning  of  the  cure,  or  else  it  was  a  feverish 
reaction. 

I  shah1  have  to  hurry  over  our  little  inci- 
dents :  how  the  wagon  could  n't  go  on  by  way 
of  the  shore,  and  had  to  flounder  back  over 
the  rocks,  and  crawl  out  of  the  canon  to  the 
upper  road  ;  how  Kitty  and  I  set  out  vain- 
gloriously  to  walk  to  Broadlands  by  the  river- 
trail,  and  Harshaw  set  out  to  walk  with  us ; 
and  how  Kitty  made  it  difficult  for  him  to 
walk  with  both  of  us  by  staving  on  ahead, 
with  the  step  of  a  young  Atalanta.  I  was  so 
provoked  with  her  that  I  let  her  take  her  pace 


THE  HARSHAW  BRIDE  223 

and  I  took  mine.  Fancy  a  woman  of  my  age 
racing  a  girl  of  her  build  and  constitution 
seven  miles  to  Broadlands !  Poor  Harshaw 
was  cruelly  torn  between  us,  but  he  manfully 
stuck  to  his  duty.  He  would  not  abandon  the 
old  lady  even  for  the  pleasure  of  running  after 
the  young  one,  though  I  absolved  him  many 
times,  and  implored  him  to  leave  me  to  my 
fate.  I  take  pride  in  recording  his  faithful- 
ness, and  I  see  now  why  I  have  always  liked 
him.  He  wears  well,  particularly  when  things 
are  most  harassing. 

It  certainly  was  hard  upon  him  when  I  gave 
out  completely,  toiling  through  the  sand,  and 
sat  down  to  rest  on  the  door-stone  of  a  placer- 
miner's  cabin  (cabin  closed  and  miner  gone), 
and  nowhere  through  the  hot,  morning  still- 
ness could  we  catch  a  sound  or  a  sight  of  the 
runaway.  I  could  almost  hear  his  heart  beat, 
and  his  eyes  and  ears  and  all  his  keen  young 
senses  were  on  a  stretch  after  that  ridiculous 
girl.  But  he  kept  up  a  show  of  interest  in  my 
remarks,  and  paid  every  patient  attention  to 
my  feeble  wants,  without  an  idea  of  how  long 
it  might  be  my  pleasure  to  sit  there.  It  was 
not  long,  however  it  may  have  seemed  to  him, 
before  we  heard  wagon-wheels  booming  down 


224  THE  HARSHAW  BRIDE 

a  little  side-canon  between  the  hills.  The 
team  had  managed  to  drag  the  wagon  up 
through  a  scrubby  gulch  that  looked  like  no 
thoroughfare,  but  which  opened  into  a  very 
fair  way  out  of  our  difficulties. 

When  we  had  come  within  sight  of  Broad- 
lands  Ferry,  all  aboard  except  Kitty,  and  still 
not  a  sign  nor  a  sound  of  her,  our  hearts 
began  to  soften  toward  that  willful  girl. 

Tom  requested  Harshaw  to  jump  out  and 
see  if  he  could  n't  round  up  his  country- 
woman. But  Harshaw  rather  haughtily  re- 
signed —  in  favor  of  a  better  man,  he  said. 
Then  Tom  stood  up  in  the  wagon  and  gave 
the  camp  call,  "  Yee-ee-ip  !  yee-ip,  ye-ip  !  "  a 
brazen,  barbarous  hoot.  Kitty  clapped  both 
hands  to  her  ears  when  she  was  first  intro- 
duced to  it,  but  it  did  not  fetch  her  now. 
Tom  "yee-iped"  again,  and  as  we  listened 
there  she  was,  strolling  toward  us  through  the 
greasewood,  with  the  face  of  a  May  morn- 
ing !  She  would  n't  give  us  the  satisfaction  of 
seeing  her  run,  but  her  flushed  cheeks,  damp 
temples,  and  quick,  sighing  breath  betrayed 
her.  She  had  been  running  fast  enough. 

"  Kitty,"  I  said  severely,  "  there  are  rattle- 
snakes among  those  rocks." 


THE  HARSHAW  BRIDE  225 

"  Are  there  ?  "  she  answered  serenely.  "  But 
I  was  n't  looking  for  rattlesnakes,  you  know. 
See  what  lovely  things  I  did  find !  I  've  got 
the  '  prospecting '  fever  already." 

She  had  filled  her  pockets  with  specimens 
of  obsidian,  jaspers,  and  chalcedonies,  of 
colors  most  beautiful,  with  a  deep-dyed 
opaqueness,  a  shell-fracture,  and  a  satiny  pol- 
ish like  jade.  And  she  consulted  us  about 
them  very  prettily  —  the  little  fraud !  Of 
course  she  was  instantly  forgiven. 

But  I  notice  that  since  our  arrival  at  Broad- 
lands,  Harshaw  has  not  troubled  her  with  his 
attentions.  They  might  be  the  most  indiffer- 
ent strangers,  for  all  that  his  manner  implies. 
And  if  she  is  not  pleased  with  the  change, 
she  ought  to  be,  for  she  has  made  her  wishes 
plain. 


n 


Camp  at  the  Thousand  Springs.  A  little 
grass  peninsula  running  out  between  the  river 
and  a  narrow  lagoon,  a  part  of  Decker's  ranch, 
two  miles  by  water  below  the  Springs  and  half 
a  mile  from  Decker's  Ferry,  set  all  about  with  a 
hedge  of  rose,  willow,  and  wild-currant  bushes, 


226  THE  HARSHAW  BRIDE 

sword-grass,  and  tall  reeds,  —  the  grasses  enor- 
mous, like  Japanese  decorations, —  crossing  the 
darks  of  the  opposite  shore  and  the  lights  of 
the  river  and  sky.  Our  tents  are  pitched,  our 
blankets  spread  in  the  sun,  our  wagon  is  soaking 
its  tired  feet  in  the  river.  Tom  and  Harshaw 
are  up-stream  somewhere,  fishing  for  supper. 
Billings  is  bargaining  with  Old  Man  Decker 
for  the  "  keep  "  of  his  team.  Kitty  and  I  are 
enjoying  ourselves.  There  is  a  rip  in  one  of 
the  back  seams  of  my  jacket,  Kitty  tells  me,  but 
even  that  cannot  move  me. 

I  say  we  are  enjoying  ourselves;  but  my 
young  guest  has  developed  a  new  mood  of  late 
which  gives  poignancy  to  my  growing  tender- 
ness for  the  girl.  She  has  kept  up  wonderfully, 
with  the  aid  of  her  bit  of  a  temper,  for  which 
I  like  her  none  the  less.  How  she  will  stand 
this  idleness,  monotony,  and  intimacy,  with  the 
accent  of  beauty  pressing  home,  I  cannot  say. 
I  rather  fear  for  her. 

The  screws  have  been  tightened  on  her  lately 
by  something  that  befell  at  the  Harshaw  ranch. 
Our  road  lay  past  the  place,  and  Harshaw  had 
to  stop  for  his  surveying  instruments,  also  to 
pack  a  bag,  he  said,  —  with  apologies  for  keep- 
ing us  waiting. 


THE  HARSHAW  BRIDE  227 

I  think  we  were  all  a  little  nervous  as  we 
neared  the  house.  Very  few  women  could  have 
spelled  the  word  "  home  "  out  of  those  rough 
masculine  premises.  I  wondered  if  Kitty  was 
not  offering  up  a  prayer  of  thanksgiving  for 
the  life  she  had  been  delivered  from. 

Harshaw  jumped  down,  and,  stooping  under 
the  wire  fence,  ran  across  the  alfalfa  stubble  to 
the  house  as  fast  as  he  could  for  the  welcome 
of  a  beautiful  young  setter  dog  —  Maisie  he 
called  her  —  that  came  wildly  out  to  meet  him. 
A  woman —  not  a  nice-looking  woman  —  stood 
at  the  door  and  watched  him,  and  even  at  our 
distance  from  them  there  was  something  strange 
in  their  recognition. 

Kitty  began  to  talk  and  laugh  with  forced 
coolness.  Tom  turned  the  horses  sharply,  so 
that  the  wagon's  shadow  lay  on  the  roadside, 
away  from  the  house.  "  Get  out,  had  n't  you 
better  ?  "  he  suggested,  in  the  tone  of  a  com- 
mand. We  got  out,  and  Kitty  asked  for  her 
sketching-bag. 

"  Kitty,"  I  whispered,  pointing  to  the  house, 
"  draw  that,  and  send  it  to  your  mother.  She 
will  never  ask  again  why  you  did  n't  care  to 
live  there." 

"That   has   nothing   to   do  with  it,"  she 


228  THE  HARSHAW  BRIDE 

retorted  coldly.  "I  would  have  lived  there, 
or  anywhere,  with  the  right  person." 

There  was  no  such  person.  I  could  n't  help 
saying  it. 

She  is  very  handsome  when  she  looks  down, 
proud  and  a  trifle  sullen  when  you  "  touch  her 
on  the  raw,"  as  the  men  say. 

"  But  there  is  such  a  person,  Kitty,"  I  ven- 
tured. I  had  ventured,  it  seemed,  too  far. 

"You  are  my  hostess.  Your  house  is  my 
only  home.  Don  't  be  his  accomplice ! "  I 
thought  it  rather  well  said. 

Now  that  woman's  clothes  were  hanging  on 
the  line  (and  very  common-looking  clothes 
they  were),  so  she  could  not  have  been  a  casual 
guest.  Moreover,  she  was  pacing  the  hard 
ground  in  front  of  the  house,  and  staring  at 
us  with  a  truculent  yet  uneasy  air.  Curiosity 
was  strong,  and  a  sort  of  anger  possessed  me 
against  the  place  and  everybody  connected 
with  it. 

When  Cecil  came  out,  looking  very  hot  and 
confused  for  him,  who  is  always  so  fresh  and 
gay,  I  inquired,  rather  shortly  perhaps,  "  Who 
is  your  visitor  ?  " 

"  I  have  no  visitor,"  he  answered  me,  as 
cool  as  you  please.  But  there  was  a  protest  in 


THE  HARSHAW  BEIDE  229 

his  eye.  I  was  determined  not  to  spare  him 
or  any  of  the  Harshaws. 

"  Your  housekeeper,  then  ?  " 

"  I  have  no  housekeeper." 

"  Who  is  the  lady  stopping  at  your  house  ?  " 

"  I  have  no  house." 

"  Your  cousin's  house,  then  ?  " 

"  If  you  refer  to  the  person  I  was  talking 
to  —  she  is  my  cousin's  housekeeper,  I  sup- 
pose." 

Tom  gave  me  a  look,  and  I  thought  it  time 
to  let  the  subject  drop.  This  was  in  Kitty's 
presence,  though  apparently  she  neither  saw 
nor  heard.  I  walked  on  ahead  of  the  wagon, 
so  angry  that  I  was  almost  sick.  Instantly 
Harshaw  joined  me,  with  a  much  nicer,  brighter 
look  upon  his  face. 

"Mrs.  Daly,"  he  said,  "I  want  to  beg  your 
pardon.  I  could  not  answer  your  question 
before  Miss  Comyn.  The  lady,  as  you  were 
pleased  to  call  her,  is  Mrs.  Harshaw,  my  cousin 
—  Micky's  wife,  you  understand." 

"  Since  when  ?  " 

"  Day  before  yesterday,  she  tells  me.  They 
were  married  at  Bliss." 

"  Well,  I  should  say  it  was '  Bliss '  for  Kitty 
Comyn  that  she  is  not  Mrs.  Harshaw  —  too," 


230  THE  HARSHAW  BRIDE 

I  was  about  to  add,  but  that  would  be  going 
rather  far.  "  And  what  did  you  want  to  bring 
that  girl  over  here  for  ?  " 

"  Mrs.  Daly,  I  have  told  you,  —  I  thought 
she  loved  him." 

"  And  what  of  his  love  for  her  ?  " 

"  Good  heavens !  you  don't  suppose  Micky 
cares  for  that  old  thing  he  has  married !  That 
was  what  I  was  trying  to  save  him  from.  He  'd 
have  had  to  be  the  deuce  of  a  lot  worse  than 
he  is  to  deserve  that." 

Had  it  occurred  to  him,  I  put  it  to  Cecil 
Harshaw,  to  ask  himself  what  the  saving  of 
his  precious  cousin  might  have  cost  the  girl 
who  was  to  have  been  offered  up  to  that  end  ? 

"  You  leave  out  one  small  feature  of  the 
case,"  said  Harshaw,  with  a  sick  and  burning 
look  that  made  me  drop  my  eyes,  old  woman 
as  I  am.  "  I  love  her  myself  so  well  that,  by 
Heaven  !  if  she  had  wanted  Micky  or  any 
other  man,  she  should  have  had  him,  if  that 
was  what  her  heart  was  set  upon.  But  I  did  n't 
believe  it  was.  I  wanted  her  to  know  the  truth, 
and,  hang  it !  I  could  n't  write  it  to  her.  I 
could  n't  peach  on  Micky ;  but  I  wanted  to 
smash  things.  I  wanted  something  to  happen. 
Maybe  I  did  n't  do  the  right  thing,  but  I  had 
to  do  something." 


THE  HARSHAW  BRIDE  231 

I  could  n't  tell  him  just  what  I  thought  of 
him  at  that  moment,  but  I  did  say  to  him  that 
he  had  some  very  simple  ideas  for  an  end- 
of-the-century  young  Englishman.  At  which 
he  smiled  sweetly,  and  said  it  was  one  of  his 
simple  ideas  that  Kitty  need  not  be  informed 
who  or  what  her  successor  was,  or  how  promptly 
she  had  been  succeeded. 

"  But  just  now  you  said  you  wanted  her  to 
know  the  truth." 

"  Not  the  whole  truth.  Great  Scott !  she 
knows  enough.  No  need  to  rub  it  in." 

"  She  knows  just  enough  about  this  to  mis- 
understand, perhaps.  In  justice  to  yourself  — 
she  heard  you  beating  about  the  bush  —  do 
you  want  her  to  misunderstand  you  ?  " 

"  Oh,  hang  me  !  I  don 't  expect  her  to  un- 
derstand me,  or  even  tolerate  me,  yet.  Mine  is 
a  waiting  race,  Mrs.  Daly." 

"  Very  well ;  you  can  wait,"  I  said.  "  But 
news  like  this  will  not  wait.  She  will  be  obliged 
to  hear  it ;  you  don't  know  how  or  where  she 
may  hear  it.  Better  let  her  hear  it  first  in  as 
decent  a  way  as  possible." 

"  But  there  is  no  decent  way.  How  can  I 
explain  to  you,  or  you  to  her,  such  a  measly 
affair  as  this?  It  began  with  a  question  of 


232  THE  HARSHAW  BRIDE 

money  he  owed  that  woman  on  the  ranch.  He 
bought  it  of  her,  —  and  a  cruel  bad  bargain  it 
was,  —  and  he  never  could  make  his  last  pay- 
ment. She  has  threatened  him,  and  played  the 
fool  with  him  when  he  'd  let  her.  and  bored  him 
no  end.  His  governor  would  have  helped  him 
out ;  but,  you  see,  Micky  has  been  a  rather  ex- 
pensive boy,  and  he  has  given  the  old  gentle- 
man to  understand  that  the  place  is  paid  for, 
—  to  account  for  money  sent  him  at  various 
times  for  that  ostensible  purpose,  —  and  on  that 
basis  the  bargain  was  struck,  between  our  gov- 
ernors, for  my  interest  in  the  ranch.  My  father 
bought  me  in,  on  a  clear  title,  as  Uncle  George 
represented  it,  in  perfect  good  faith.  I  've 
never  said  a  word,  on  the  old  gentleman's  ac- 
count ;  and  Micky  has  never  dared  undeceive 
his  father,  who  is  the  soul  of  honor  in  business, 
as  in  everything  else.  I  am  sorry  to  bore  you 
with  family  affairs ;  but  it 's  rather  rum  the 
way  Micky's  fate  has  caught  up  with  him, 
through  his  one  weakness  of  laziness,  and  per- 
haps lying  a  little,  when  he  was  obliged  to. 
How  this  affair  came  about  so  suddenly  I  can't 
say.  Did  n't  like  to  ask  her  too  many  questions ; 
and  Micky,  poor  devil,  faded  from  view  directly 
he  saw  us  coming.  But  at  a  venture :  she  had 


THE  HARSHAW  BRIDE  233 

heard  he  was  going  to  be  married,  and  came 
down  here  to  make  trouble  when  he  should 
arrive  with  his  bride ;  but  he  came  back  alone, 
disgusted  with  life,  and  found  her  here.  It  was 
easier  to  marry  her  than  —  pay  her,  we  '11  say. 
She  has  been  something  over-generous,  per- 
haps. She  would  rather  have  had  him,  any 
time,  than  her  money,  and  now  was  the  time. 
She  took  advantage  of  a  weak  moment." 

"  A  weak  and  a  spiteful  moment,"  I  kindly 
added.  "  Now  if  he  hastens  the  news  to  Eng- 
land, and  the  Percif  ers  hear  of  it  in  New  York, 
how  pleasant  for  Kitty  to  have  all  her  friends 
hear  that  he  is  married  and  she  is  not !  " 

"Great  Heavens  !"  said  the  young  fellow, 
"  if  she  would  let  me  hasten  the  news  —  that 
she  is  married  to  me !  " 

"  Why  don't  you  appeal  to  her  pride  and 
her  spirit  now  while  they  are  in  the  dust? 
Why  do  you  bother  with  sentiment  now  ?  " 

I  liked  him  so  much  at  that  moment  that  I 
would  have  had  him  have  Kitty,  no  matter 
what  way  he  got  her. 

"  Yes,"  he  said ;  "  why  not  take  advantage 
of  her,  as  everybody  else  has  done  ?  " 

"  Some  people's  scrupulousness  comes  rather 
late,"  I  said. 


234  THE  HARSHAW  BRIDE 

"  To  those  who  don't  understand,"  he  had 
the  brazenness  to  say.  "  What  is  done  is 
done.  It 's  a  rough  beginning  —  awfully  rough 
on  her.  The  end  must  atone  somehow.  If  I 
don't  win  her  I  shall  be  punished  enough ; 
but  if  I  do,  it  will  be  because  she  loves  me. 
And  pray  God" —  He  stopped,  with  that 
look.  It  is  a  number  of  years  since  a  young 
man  has  looked  at  me  in  that  way,  but  a 
woman  does  not  forget. 

It  was  rather  difficult  telling  to  Kitty  the 
story  of  her  old  lover's  marriage,  as  I  took  it 
on  myself  to  do.  Not  that  she  winced  per- 
ceptibly ;  but  I  fear  she  has  taken  the  thing 
home,  and  is  dwelling  on  it  —  certain  features 
of  it  —  in  a  way  that  can  do  no  good.  From 
a  word  she  lets  slip  now  and  then,  I  gather 
that  she  is  brooding  over  that  fancy  of  hers 
that  Cecil  Harshaw  offered  himself  by  way  of 
reparation,  as  she  was  falling  between  two 
stools,  —  her  own  home  and  her  lover's,  —  to 
save  her  from  the  ground.  As  since  that 
rainy  night  in  the  wagon  she  has  never  dis- 
tinctly referred  to  this  theory  of  his  conduct, 
I  have  no  excuse  for  bringing  it  up,  even  to 
attack  it.  In  fact,  I  dare  not;  she  is  in  too 
complicated  a  mood.  And,  after  all,  why 


THE  HARSHAW  BRIDE  235 

should  I  want  her  to  marry  either  of  them  ? 
Why  should  the  "  hungry  generations  "  tread 
her  down?  She  is  nice  enough  to  stay  as 
she  is. 

Another  thing  happened  on  our  way  here 
which  may  perversely  have  helped  to  confirm 
her  in  this  pretty  notion  of  Harshaw's  disin- 
terestedness. 

At  a  place  by  the  river  where  the  current 
is  bad  (there  are  many  such  places,  and,  in 
fact,  the  whole  of  the  Snake  River  is  a  perfect 
hoodoo)  Harshaw  stopped  one  day  to  drink. 
The  wagon  had  struck  a  streak  of  heavy 
sand,  and  we  were  all  walking.  We  stood 
and  watched  him,  because  he  drank  with  such 
deep  enjoyment,  stooping  bareheaded  on  his 
hands  and  knees,  and  putting  his  hot  face  to 
the  water.  Suddenly  he  made  a  clutch  at  his 
breast  pocket :  his  Norfolk  jacket  was  unbut- 
toned. He  had  lost  something,  and  the  river 
had  got  it.  He  ran  along  the  bank,  trying  to 
recover  it  with  a  stick,  and,  not  succeeding, 
he  plopped  in  just  as  he  was,  with  his  boots 
on.  We  saw  him  drop  into  deep  water  and 
swim  for  it,  a  little  black  object,  which  he 
caught,  and  held  in  his  teeth.  Then  he  turned 
his  face  to  the  shore;  and  precious  near  he 


236  THE  HARSHAW  BRIDE 

came  to  never  reaching  it !  We  women  had 
been  looking  on,  smiling,  like  idiot  dolls,  till 
we  saw  Tom  racing  down  the  bank,  throwing 
off  his  coat  as  he  ran.  Then  we  took  a  sort 
of  dumb  fright,  and  tried  to  follow;  but  it 
was  all  over  in  a  second,  before  we  saw  it,  still 
less  realized  it  —  his  struggle,  swimming  for 
dear  life,  and  not  gaining  an  inch ;  the  stick 
held  out  to  him  in  the  nick  of  time,  just  as  he 
passed  a  spot  where  the  beast  of  a  current 
that  had  him  swooped  inshore. 

I  am  sorry  to  say  that  my  husband's  first 
words  to  the  man  he  may  be  said  to  have 
saved  from  death  were,  "  You  young  fool, 
what  did  you  do  that  for  ?  " 

"For  this,"  Harshaw  panted,  slapping  his 
wet  breast. 

"  For  a  pocket-book !  Great  Sign  !  What 
had  you  in  it  ?  I  would  n't  have  done  that  for 
the  whole  of  the  Snake  River  valley." 

"  Nor  I,"  laughed  Harshaw. 

"  Nor  the  Bruneau  to  boot." 

"Nor  I." 

"  What  did  you  do  it  for,  then  ?  " 

"For  this,"  Harshaw  repeated. 

"  For  a  piece  of  pasteboard  with  a  girl's  face 
on  it,  or  some  such  toy,  I  '11  be  sworn  ! " 


THE  HARSHAW  BRIDE  237 

Harshaw  did  not  deny  the  soft  impeach- 
ment. 

"  I  did  n't  know  you  had  a  girl,  Harshaw," 
Tom  began  seductively. 

"  Well,  I  have  n't,  you  know,"  said  Harshaw. 
"  There  was  one  I  wanted  badly  enough,  a 
few  years  ago,"  he  added  with  engaging  frank- 
ness. 

"  When  was  it  you  first  began  to  pine  for 
her  ?  About  the  period  of  second  dentition  ?  " 

"  Oh,  betimes ;  and  betimes  I  was  disap- 
pointed." 

"Well,  unless  it  was  for  the  girl  herself, 
I  'd  keep  out  of  that  Snake  River,"  my  hus- 
band advised. 

Kitty's  face  wore  a  slightly  strained  expres- 
sion of  perfect  vacancy. 

"Do  you  know  who  Harshaw's  'girl'  was?  " 
I  asked  her  the  other  night,  as  we  were  un- 
dressing,— without  an  idea  that  she  would  n't 
see  where  the  joke  came  in.  She  was  standing, 
with  her  hair  down,  between  the  canvas  cur- 
tains of  our  tent.  It  looks  straight  out  toward 
the  Sand  Springs  Fall,  and  Kitty  worships 
there  awhile  every  night  before  she  goes  to 
bed. 

"  No,"  she  said.   "  I  was  never  much  with 


238  THE  HARSHAW  BRIDE 

Cecil  Harshaw.  It  is  the  families  that  have 
always  known  each  other."  The  simple  child  ! 
She  had  n't  understood  him,  or  would  she  not 
understand?  Which  was  it?  I  can't  make 
out  whether  she  is  really  simple  or  not.  She 
is  too  clever  to  be  so  very  simple ;  yet  the 
cleverness  of  a  young  girl's  mind,  centred  on 
a  few  ideas,  is  mainly  in  spots.  But  now  I 
think  she  has  brought  this  incident  to  bear 
upon  that  precious  theory  of  hers,  that  Har- 
shaw offered  himself  from  a  sense  of  duty. 
Great  good  may  it  do  her ! 

The  Sand  Springs  Fall,  a  perfect  gem,  is 
directly  opposite  our  camp,  facing  west  across 
the  lagoon.  We  can  feast  our  eyes  upon  it  at 
all  hours  of  the  day  and  night.  Tom  has  told 
Kitty,  in  the  way  of  business,  that  he  has  no 
use  for  that  fall.  She  may  draw  it  or  not, 
as  she  likes.  She  does  draw  it ;  she  draws  it, 
and  water-colors  it,  and  chalks  it  in  colored 
crayons,  and  India-inks  it,  loading  on  the 
Chinese  white ;  and  she  charcoals  it,  in  moon- 
light effects,  on  a  gray-blue  paper.  But  do  it 
whatever  way  she  will,  she  never  can  do  it. 

"  Oh,  you  exquisite,  hopeless  thing !  Why 
can't  I  let  you  alone  !  "  she  cries ;  "  and  why 
can't  you  let  me  alone  !  " 


THE  HARSHAW  BEIDE  239 

"  It  is  rather  hard,  the  way  the  thing  doubles 
up  on  you,"  says  Tom.  "  The  real  fall,  right 
side  up,  is  bad  enough ;  but  when  it  comes  to 
the  reflection  of  it,  standing  on  its  head  in 
the  lagoon,  I  should  lie  right  down  myself.  I 
would  n't  pull  another  pound." 

("Lay  down,"  he  said ;  but  I  thought  you 
would  n't  stand  it.  Tom  would  never  spoil  a 
cherished  bit  of  dialect  because  of  shocking 
anybody  with  his  grammar.) 

Kitty  throws  herself  back  in  the  dry  salt- 
grass  with  which  the  whole  of  our  little  penin- 
sula is  bedded.  The  willows  and  brakes  are 
our  curtains,  through  which  the  rising  moon 
looks  in  at  us,  and  the  setting  sun ;  the  sun 
rises  long  before  we  see  him,  above  the  dark- 
blue  mountains  beyond  the  shore. 

"  Won't  somebody  repeat 

'  There  is  sweet  music  here  that  sof tlier  lies  ?  ' ' 

Kitty  asks,  letting  her  eyelashes  fall  on  her 
sun-flushed  cheeks.  Her  face,  as  I  saw  it,  sit- 
ting behind  her  in  the  grass,  was  so  pretty  — 
upside  down  like  the  reflection  of  the  water- 
fall, its  colors  all  the  more  wonderfully 
blended. 

We  did  not  all  speak  at  once.    Then  Harshaw 


240  THE  HARSHAW  BRIDE 

said,  to  break  the  silence,  "  I  will  read  it  to 
you,  if  you  don't  mind." 

"  Oh,  have  you  the  book  ?  "  Kitty  asked  in 
surprise. 

He  went  to  his  tent  and  returned  with  a 
book,  and  sitting  on  the  grass  where  she  could 
hear  but  could  not  see  him,  he  began.  I  trem- 
bled for  him ;  but  before  he  had  got  to  the 
second  stanza  I  was  relieved :  he  could  read 
aloud. 

"  Now  there  is  a  man  one  could  live  on  a 
Snake  Eiver  ranch  with,"  I  felt  like  saying  to 
Kitty.  Not  that  I  am  sure  that  I  want  her  to. 

When  he  had  finished, 

"  O  rest  ye,  brother  mariners ;  we  will  not  wander  more ! " 

Tom  remarked,  after  a  suitable  silence,  that  it 
was  all  well  enough  for  Harshaw,  who  would 
be  in  London  in  six  weeks,  to  say,  "  We  will 
not  wander  more  !  "  But  how  about  the  rest 
of  us? 

Kitty  sat  straight  up  at  that. 

"  Will  Mr.  Harshaw  be  in  London  six  weeks 
from  now  ?  "  The  question  was  almost  a  cry. 

"  Will  you  ?  "  she  demanded,  turning  upon 
him  as  if  this  was  the  last  injury  he  could  do 
her. 


THE  HARSHAW  BRIDE  241 

"  I  suppose  so,"  he  said. 

"  And  you  will  see  my  mother,  and  all  of 
them?"  " 

"  I  think  so  —  if  you  wish." 

She  rose  up,  as  if  she  could  bear  no  more. 
Harshaw  waited  an  instant,  and  then  followed 
her;  but  she  motioned  him  back,  and  went 
away  to  have  it  out  with  herself  alone. 

I  took  up  the  book  Harshaw  had  left  on  the 
grass.  It  was  "  Copp's  Manual  "  —  "  For  the 
use  of  Prospectors,"  etc. 

After  all,  it  is  not  so  sure  that  Harshaw  will 
go  to  London.  There  has  been  an  engineer  on 
the  ground  since  last  summer,  when  all  this 
water  was  free.  He  has  located  a  vast  deal  of 
it,  perhaps  the  whole.  Tom  says  he  can  hold 
only  just  as  much  as  he  can  use ;  I  hope  there 
will  be  no  difference  of  opinion  on  that  point. 
There  generally  is  a  difference  of  opinion  on 
points  of  location  when  the  thing  located  is 
proved  to  have  any  value.  The  prior  locator 
has  gone  East,  they  tell  us  at  the  ranch,  on  a 
business  visit,  presumably  to  raise  capital  for 
his  scheme ;  which,  as  I  understand  it,  is  to 
force  the  water  of  the  springs  up  on  the  dry 
plains  above,  for  irrigation  (the  fetich  of  the 


242  THE  HABSHAW  BRIDE 

country),  by  means  of  a  pneumatic  pumping 
arrangement.  His  ladders  and  pipes,  and  all 
his  hopeful  apparatus,  are  clinging  now  like 
cobwebs  to  the  face  of  the  bluff,  against  that 
flashing,  creaming  broadside  of  the  springs  at 
their  greatest  height  and  fall.  I  was  pitying 
the  poor  man  and  his  folly,  but  Tom  says  the 
plan  is  perfectly  feasible. 

The  wall  of  the  river  canon  is  built  up  in 
stories  of  basalt  rock,  each  story  defined  by  a 
horizontal  fissure,  out  of  which  these  mysteri- 
ous waters  gush,  white  and  cold,  taking  glori- 
ous colors  in  the  sunlight  from  the  rich  under- 
painting  of  the  rock.  There  is  an  awfulness 
about  it,  too,  as  if  that  sheer  front  of  rock  were 
the  retaining-wall  of  a  reservoir  as  deep  as  the 
bluffs  are  high,  which  had  sprung  a  leak  in  a 
thousand  places,  and  might  the  next  instant 
burst  and  ingulf  the  lagoon,  and  wipe  out  the 
pretty  island  between  itself  and  the  river. 
Winter  and  summer  the  volume  of  water  never 
varies,  and  the  rate  of  discharge  is  always  the 
same,  and  the  water  is  never  cold,  though  I 
have  just  said  it  is.  It  looks  cold  until  the 
rocks  warm  it  with  their  gemlike  tints,  like  a 
bride's  jewels  gleaming  through  her  veil.  Back 
of  the  bluffs,  where  it  might  be  supposed  to 


THE  HARSHAW  BRIDE  243 

come  from,  there  is  nothing  for  a  hundred 
miles  but  drought  and  desert  plains.  I  don't 
care  for  any  of  their  theories  concerning  its 
source.  It  is  better  as  it  is  —  the  miracle  of 
the  smitten  rock. 

You  can  fancy  what  wild  presumption  it 
must  seem  that  a  mere  man  should  think  to 
reverse  those  torrents  and  make  them  climb 
the  bluff  or  cram  them  into  an  iron  pipe  and 
send  them  like  paid  laborers  to  hoist  and  pump 
and  grind,  and  light  the  streets  at  Silver  City, 
a  hundred  miles  away.  And  how  the  cataracts 
will  shout  while  these  two  pigmies  compare 
their  rival  claims  to  ownership  —  in  a  force 
that  with  one  stroke  could  lay  them  as  flat  as 
last  year's  leaves  in  the  bottom  of  a  mill-race  ! 

The  particular  fall  my  schemer  has  located 
for  his  own  —  other  claims  to  be  discussed 
hereafter  —  is  called  the  "  Snow  Bank."  He 
says  he  does  n't  want  the  earth  :  this  one  cata- 
ract is  enough  for  him.  To  look  at  the  whole 
frontage  of  the  springs  and  listen  to  their  roar, 
one  would  think  there  might  be  water  enough 
for  them  both,  poor  children  !  Hardly  what 
you  'd  call  two  bites  of  a  cherry  ! 

If  the  springs  were  the  half  of  a  broken 
diamond  bracelet,  the  Snow  Bank  would  be 


244  THE  HARSHAW  BRIDE 

its  brightest  gem,  lying  separate  in  the  case  — 
perhaps  the  one  that  was  the  clasp.  It  is  half 
hidden  by  the  shoulder  of  a  great  barren  bluff 
•which,  at  a  certain  angle  of  the  sun,  throws  a 
blue  shadow  over  it.  At  other  times  the  fall 
is  almost  too  bright  in  its  foaming  whiteness 
for  the  eye  to  endure. 

Kitty  is  painting  it  with  this  shadow  half 
across  it ;  but  the  light  shines  upon  it  at  its 
source.  Tom  is  doubtful  if  she  is  showing  the 
fall  to  the  best  advantage  for  his  purpose,  but 
he  is  obliging  enough  to  let  the  artist  try  it  in 
her  own  way  first. 

"  Go  up  there,"  she  says, "  and  stand  at  the 
head  of  the  spring,  if  you  want  to  show  by 
comparison  how  big  it  is,  or  how  small  you 
are." 

He  goes,  and  gets  in  position,  and  Kitty 
makes  some  pencil-marks  on  the  margin  of  her 
sketch.  Then  she  waves  her  hands  to  tell  him, 
across  the  shouting  current,  that  she  is  done 
with  him.  She  has  been  so  quick  that  he 
thinks  he  must  have  mistaken  her  gesture. 
Then  Harshaw  makes  the  train-conductor's 
signal  for  the  train  to  move  on. 

"  You  see,"  she  says  to  Harshaw  and  me, 
who  are  looking  over  her  shoulder,  "  that 


THE  HARSHAW  BRIDE  245 

would  be  the  size  of  him  in  my  sketch."  She 
points  to  the  marginal  pencil-mark,  which  is 
not  longer  than  the  nib  of  a  stub-pen.  "  I 
can't  make  a  little  black  dot  like  that  look  like 
a  man." 

"  In  this  particular  sketch,  for  his  purpose, 
he  'd  rather  look  like  a  dot  than  a  man,  I  dare 
say,"  said  Harshaw. 

"  Well,  shall  I  put  him  in  ?  I  can  make  a 
note  of  it  on  the  margin :  '  This  black  dot  is 
Mr.  Daly,  standing  at  the  spring-head.  He  is 
six  feet'"  — 

"  But  he  is  n't,  you  know,"  Harshaw  says. 
"  He  's  five  feet  ten  —  if  he 's  that." 

"  Ten  and  a  half,"  I  hasten  to  amend. 

Our  lunch  that  day  had  been  left  in  the 
boat.  We  went  down  and  ate  it  under  the 
mountain  birches  at  a  spot  where  the  Snow 
Bank  empties  into  the  lagoon  —  not  our  la- 
goon, as  we  called  it,  between  our  camp  and 
the  lovely  Sand  Springs  Fall,  but  the  upper 
one,  made  by  the  springs  themselves,  before 
their  waters  reach  the  river.  In  front  of  us, 
half  embraced  by  the  lagoon  and  half  by  the 
river,  lay  a  little  island-ranch  of  about  ten 
acres,  not  cut  up  in  crops,  but  all  over  green 
in  pasture.  A  small  cabin,  propping  up  a 


246  THE  HARSHAW  BRIDE 

large  hop-vine,  showed  against  a  mass  of  birch 
and  cottonwood  on  the  river  side  of  the  island. 

"  What  a  place  for  a  honeymoon  !  "  said  I. 

"There  is  material  there  for  half  of  a 
honeymoon,"  said  Tom  —  "  not  bad  material, 
either." 

"  Oh,  yes,"  I  said ;  "  we  have  seen  her  — 
that  is,  we  have  seen  her  sunbonnet." 

"  Kitty,  you  've  got  a  rival,"  I  exclaimed : 
for  there  in  the  sunny  centre  of  the  island, 
planted  with  obvious  design  right  in  front  of 
the  Snow  Bank,  our  Snow  Bank,  was  an  art- 
ist's big  white  umbrella. 

"  Why  should  I  not  have,  in  a  place  like 
this  ?  "  she  said.  "  If  the  schemers  arrive  by 
twos,  why  not  two  of  my  modest  craft  ?  We 
shall  leave  it  as  we  find  it ;  we  don't  intend  to 
carry  it  away  in  our  pockets."  She  stopped, 
and  blushed  disdainfully.  "I  forgot,"  she 
murmured,  "  my  own  mercenary  designs." 

"  I  have  not  heard  of  these  mercenary  de- 
signs of  yours.  What  are  they,  may  I  ask  ?  " 
Harshaw  had  turned  on  his  side  on  the  grass, 
and  half  rose  on  one  elbow  as  he  looked  at  her. 

"That  is  strange,"  mocked  Kitty,  with 
supreme  coldness.  "  You  have  always  been  so 
interested  in  my  affairs  !  " 


THE  HARSHAW  BRIDE  247 

"  I  always  shall  be,"  he  replied  seriously, 
with  supreme  gentleness. 

"  I  ought  to  be  so  grateful." 

"  But  unfortunately  you  are  not." 

"  I  should  be  grateful  —  if  you  would  move 
a  little  farther  to  the  right,  if  you  please.  That 
young  person  in  the  pink  sunbonnet  is  coming 
down  to  water  her  horses  again." 

Harshaw  calmly  took  himself  out  of  her 
way  altogether,  lighted  his  pipe,  and  went 
down  close  to  the  water,  and  sat  there  on  a 
stone,  and  presently,  as  we  could  hear,  entered 
into  easy  conversation  with  the  pink  sunbon- 
net, the  face  of  which  leaned  toward  him  over 
the  pony's  neck  as  he  stooped  to  drink.  The 
splashed  waters  became  still,  and  softly  the 
whole  picture  —  pink  sunbonnet,  clay-bank 
pony,  pale  and  shivery  willows,  and  deep  blue 
sky  —  developed  on  the  negative  of  the  clear 
lagoon. 

There  was  no  use  in  saying  how  pretty  it 
was,  so  we  resorted  to  the  other  note,  of  dis- 
paragement. I  remarked  that  I  should  not 
think  a  pink  sunbonnet  would  be  ravishingly 
becoming  to  the  average  Snake  River  com- 
plexion, as  I  had  seen  it. 

"  That  sunbonnet  is  becoming,  you  bet ! " 


248  THE  HARSHAW  BRIDE 

Tom  remarked.  "  Wait  till  you  see  the  face 
inside  it." 

"  Have  you  seen  it  ?  " 

"  Quite  frequently.  Do  you  think  Harshaw 
would  sit  there  talking  with  her,  as  he  does 
by  the  hour,  if  that  sunbonnet  was  not  be- 
coming ?  " 

"  As  he  does  by  the  hour  !  And  why  have 
we  not  heard  of  her  before  ?  "  I  requested  to 
be  told. 

"Business,  my  dear.  She  is  a  feature  of 
the  scheme  —  quite  an  important  one.  She 
represents  the  hitch  which  is  sure  to  develop 
early  in  the  history  of  every  live  enterprise." 

"  Indeed  ?  "  I  said.  And  if  Harshaw  talked 
with  her  on  business,  I  didn't  see  what  his 
talking  had  to  do  with  the  face  inside  her 
bonnet. 

"  I  don't  say  that  it 's  always  on  business," 
Tom  threw  in  significantly. 

"Who  is  the  lady  in  the  pink  sunbonnet, 
and  what  is  your  business  with  her?"  I  de- 
manded. 

"I  question  the  propriety  of  speaking  of 
her  in  just  that  tone,"  said  Tom,  "  inasmuch 
as  she  happens  to  be  a  lady  —  somewhat  off  the 
conventional  lines.  She  waters  her  own  stock 


THE  HARSHAW  BRIDE  249 

and  milks  her  own  cow,  because  the  old  In- 
dian girl  who  lives  with  her  is  laid  up  at  pre- 
sent with  a  fever.  Her  father  was  an  artist  — 
one  of  the  great  unappreciated  "  — 

"  So  that  was  her  father  painting  the  Snow 
Bank  ?  "  I  interrupted. 

"  Her  father  is  dead,  my  dear,  as  you  would 
have  learned  if  you  had  listened  to  my  story. 
But  he  lived  here  a  good  many  years  before 
he  died.  He  had  made  a  queer  marriage,  old 
man  Decker  tells  me,  and  quarreled  with  the 
world  on  account  of  it.  He  came  here  with 
his  disputed  bride.  She  was  somebody  else's 
wife  first,  I  believe,  and  there  was  a  trifling 
informality  about  the  matrimonial  exchange  ; 
but  it  came  out  all  right.  They  both  died,  and 
a  sweeter,  fresher  little  thing  than  the  daugh- 
ter !  Adamant,  though  —  bed-rock,  so  far  as 
we  are  concerned." 

"  What  do  you  want  that  belongs  to  her  ?  " 
I  asked.  "  Her  island,  perhaps  ?  " 

"  Only  right  of  way  across  it.  But  '  that 's 
a  detail.'  She  is  the  owner  of  something  else 
we  do  want  —  this  piece  of  ground,"  —  he 
looked  about  him  and  waved  his  hand,  — 
"  and  all  this  above  us,  where  our  power- 
plant  must  stand.  And  our  business  is  to  per- 


250  THE  HARSHAW  BRIDE 

suade  her  to  sign  the  lease,  or,  if  she  won't 
lease,  to  sell  it  when  we  are  ready  to  buy. 
We  have  to  make  sure  of  that  piece  of  ground. 
This  place  is  so  confoundedly  cut  up  with 
scenery  and  nonsense,  there 's  not  a  spot 
available  for  our  plant  but  this.  We  '11  bridge 
the  lagoon  and  make  a  landing  on  that  point 
of  birches  over  there." 

"  You  will !  And  do  you  suppose  she  will 
sign  a  lease  to  empower  you  to  wipe  her  off 
the  face  of  the  earth  —  abolish  her  and  her 
pretty  island  at  one  fell  swoop  ?  " 

"  She  knows  nothing  yet  about  our  designs 
upon  her  toy  island.  We  have  n't  approached 
her  on  that.  We  could  manage  without  it  at 
a  pinch." 

"  So  good  of  you !  "  I  murmured. 

"  But  we  can't  manage  without  a  place  to 
put  our  power-house." 

"  She  '11  have  to  sign  her  own  death-warrant, 
of  course.  If  you  get  a  footing  for  your 
power-house  you  '11  want  the  island  next.  I 
never  heard  of  such  grasping  profanation." 

"  Well,  if  Cecy  could  see  his  way  to  fall  in 
love  with  her,  —  I  would  n't  ask  him  to  woo 
her  in  cold  blood,  —  it  would  be  a  monstrous 
convenient  way  to  settle  it." 


THE  HARSHAW  BRIDE  251 

"  Why  do  you  say  such  things  before  her  ?  " 
I  asked  Tom  when  we  were  alone.  "  They  are 
not  pretty  things  to  say,  in  the  first  place." 

"  Have  you  noticed  how  she  is  always  snub- 
bing him  ?  I  thought  it  time  somebody  should 
try  the  counter-snub.  He  's  not  solely  depend- 
ent for  the  joys  of  life  on  the  crumbs  of  her 
society." 

"  Do  you  suppose  she  cares  whom  he  talks 
to,  or  whom  he  spends  his  time  with  ?  " 

"  Perhaps  she  does  n't  care.  I  should  like 
to  give  her  a  chance  to  see  if  she  cares, 
that 's  all." 

Tom's  location  notice  being  plain  for  all 
eyes  to  read,  the  mistress  of  the  island  nat- 
urally inquired  what  he  wanted  with  the  Snow 
Bank ;  and  he,  thinking  she  would  see  at 
once  the  value  to  her  ranch  of  such  a  neigh- 
boring enterprise,  frankly  told  her  of  his 
scheme.  Nothing  of  its  scientific  interest,  its 
difficulties,  its  commercial  value,  even  its  ben- 
efit to  herself,  appealed  to  the  little  islander. 
To  her  it  was  simply  an  attempt  to  alter  and 
ruin  the  spot  she  loved  best  on  earth  ;  to  steal 
her  beautiful  waterfall  and  carry  it  away  in  an 
ugly  iron  pipe.  Whether  the  thing  could  be 
done,  she  did  not  ask  herself ;  the  design  was 


252  THE  HARSHAW  BRIDE 

enough.  Never  would  she  lend  herself,  or  any- 
thing that  was  hers,  to  such  an  impious  dese- 
cration !  This  was  her  position,  which  any 
child  might  have  taken  in  defense  of  a  beloved 
toy  ;  but  she  was  holding  it  with  all  a  woman's 
force  and  constancy. 

I  was  glad  of  it,  I  said  to  Tom,  and  I 
hoped  she  would  stand  them  off  for  all  she 
was  worth.  But  I  am  not  really  glad.  What 
woman  could  love  a  waterfall  better  than  her 
husband's  success?  There  are  hundreds  of 
waterfalls  in  the  world,  but  only  this  one 
scheme  for  Tom. 

But  anent  this  hitch,  it  teases  me  a  little,  I 
confess,  on  Kitty's  account,  when  Cecil  mean- 
ders over  to  the  island  at  all  hours  of  the  day. 
To  be  sure,  it  relieves  Kitty  of  his  company  ; 
but  is  she  so  glad,  after  all,  to  be  relieved  ? 

It  was  last  Friday,  after  one  of  Harshaw's 
entirely  frank  but  perfectly  unexplained  ab- 
sences, that  he  came  into  camp  and  inquired 
if  there  was  any  clam-broth  left  in  the  kitchen. 
I  referred  him  to  the  cook.  Finding  there 
was,  he  returned  to  me  and  asked  if  he  might 
take  a  tin  of  it  to  Miss  Malcolm  for  her  pa- 
tient. 

"  Who  is  Miss  Malcolm  ?  "  I   asked.   But 


THE  HARSHAW  BRIDE  253 

of  course  who  could  she  be  but  the  lady  of  the 
island,  where  he  spends  the  greater  part  of 
his  time  ?  He  was  welcome  to  the  clam-broth, 
or  anything  else  he  thought  would  be  accep- 
table in  that  quarter,  I  said.  And  how  was 
the  patient? 

"  Oh,  she 's  quite  bad  all  the  time.  She 
does  n't  get  about.  I  wonder  if  you  'd  mind, 
Mrs.  Daly,  if  I  asked  you  to  look  in  on  her 
some  day  ?  The  old  creature 's  in  a  sad  way, 
it  seems  to  me." 

Of  course  I  did  n't  mind,  if  Miss  Malcolm 
did  not.  Harshaw  seemed  to  feel  authorized 
to  assure  me  of  that  fact.  So  I  went  first  with 
Tom,  and  then  I  went  again  alone,  leaving 
Harshaw  in  the  boat  with  Kitty. 

Miss  Malcolm's  maid  or  man  servant,  or 
both  —  for  she  does  the  work  of  both,  and 
looks  in  her  bed  (dressed  in  a  flannel  bed- 
sack,  her  head  tied  up  in  an  old  blue  knitted 
"  fascinator ")  less  like  a  woman  than  any- 
thing I  ever  beheld  — appears  to  have  had  a 
mild  form  of  grippe  fever,  and  having  never 
been  sick  in  her  life  before,  she  thought  she 
was  nearing  her  end.  My  simple  treatment, 
the  basis  of  which  was  quinine  and  whiskey, 
seemed  to  strike  old  Tamar  favorably ;  and 


254  THE  HARSHAW  BRIDE 

after  the  second  visit  there  was  no  need  to 
come  again  to  see  her.  But  by  this  time  I 
was  deep  in  the  good  books  of  her  mistress, 
who  knows  too  little  of  illness  herself  to  ap- 
preciate how  little  has  been  done,  by  me  at 
least,  or  how  very  little  needed  to  be  done 
after  restoring  the  old  woman's  confidence  in 
her  power  to  live.  (The  last  time  I  saw  her 
she  still  wore  the  blue  fascinator,  but  with  a 
man's  hat  on  top  of  it ;  she  was  waddling  to- 
ward the  cow-corral  with  half  a  haystack,  it 
looked  like,  poised  on  a  hay-fork  above  her 
head.  She  was  certainly  a  credit  to  her  doc- 
tor, if  not  to  her  corsetiere,  she  and  the  hay- 
stack being  much  of  a  figure.) 

Miss  Malcolm's  innocent  gratitude  is  most 
embarrassing,  really  painful,  under  the  circum- 
stances, and  the  poor  child  cannot  let  the  cir- 
cumstances alone.  She  imagines  I  am  always 
thinking  about  Tom's  scheme.  It  is  evident 
that  she  is  ;  and  not  being  exactly  a  woman  of 
the  world,  out  of  the  fullness  of  her  heart  her 
mouth  speaketh.  That  would  be  all  right  if 
she  would  speak  to  somebody  else.  /  don't 
want  to  take  advantage  of  her  gratitude,  as 
she  seems  determined  I  shall  do. 

"  You  must  think  me  a  very  strained,  senti- 


THE  HARSHAW  BRIDE  255 

mental  creature,"  she  said  to  me  the  last  time, 
"  to  care  so  much  for  a  few  old  rocks  and  a 
little  piece  of  foamy  water." 

I  did  n't  think  so  at  all,  I  told  her.  If  I  had 
lived  there  all  my  life,  I  should  feel  about  the 
place  just  as  she  did. 

Here  she  began  to  blush  and  distress  herself. 
"  But  think  how  kind  you  have  all  been  to  me ! 
Mr.  Harshaw  was  here  every  day,  after  he 
found  how  ill  poor  Tamar  was.  He  did  so 
many  things :  he  lifted  her,  for  one  thing,  and 
that  I  could  n't  have  done  to  save  her  life. 
And  your  two  visits  have  simply  cured  her ! 
And  here  I  am  making  myself  a  stumbling- 
block  and  ruining  your  husband's  plans !  " 

I  said  he  was  quite  capable  of  taking  care 
of  himself. 

"  Does  your  husband  want  all  the  water  ?  " 
she  persisted.  "  Do  I  understand  that  he  must 
have  it  all?" 

I  supposed  she  was  talking  of  the  Snow 
Bank,  and  since  she  was  determined  we  should 
discuss  the  affair  in  this  social  way,  I  said  he 
would  have  to  have  a  great  deal ;  and  I  told 
her  about  the  distance  the  power  would  have 
to  be  sent,  and  about  the  mines  and  the  smelt- 
ers, and  all  the  rest  of  it,  for  it  was  no  use  to 


256  THE  HARSHAW  BRIDE 

belittle  the  scheme.  I  had  got  started  uninten- 
tionally, and  I  saw  by  her  face  that  I  had 
made  an  impression.  It  is  a  small-featured, 
rather  set,  colorless  face,  not  so  pretty  as  Tom 
pretended,  but  very  delicate  and  pure;  but 
now  it  became  suddenly  the  face  of  a  fierce 
little  bigot,  and  enthusiast  to  boot. 

"  It  shall  never  go  through,  —  not  that 
scheme  —  not  if  "  —  Then  she  remembered 
to  whom  she  was  talking,  and  set  her  lips  to- 
gether, and  two  great  shiny  drops  stood  in  her 
eyes. 

"Don't,  don't,  you  child  !  "  I  said.  "Don't 
worry  about  their  old  scheme  !  If  it  must 
come  it  will  come ;  but  as  a  rule,  a  scheme, 
my  dear,  is  the  last  thing  that  ever  does  go 
through.  There 's  plenty  of  time." 

"  But  I  can't  give  in,"  she  said.  "  No  ;  I 
must  try  to  hinder  it  ah1  I  can.  I  will  be  hon- 
est with  you.  I  like  you  all ;  of  all  the  stran- 
gers who  have  come  here  I  never  liked  any 
people  better.  But  your  husband  —  must  not 
—  set  his  heart  on  all  that  water  !  It  does  n't 
belong  to  him." 

"  Does  it  belong  to  you,  dear  ?  " 

"  The  sight  of  it  belongs  to  me,"  she  said. 
"  I  will  not  have  the  place  all  littered  up  with 


THE  HARSHAW  BRIDE  257 

their  pipes  and  power-plants.  Look  out  there  ! 
Look  at  that !  Has  any  one  the  right  to  come 
here  and  spoil  such  a  lovely  thing  as  that?  " 
—  This  is  what  it  is  to  be  the  daughter  of  an 
artist. 

"  And  how  about  the  other  despoiler,"  I 
asked  —  "  the  young  man  with  the  pneumatic 
pipe?" 

"  The  '  pneumatic  pipe  ' !  "  she  repeated. 

"  (  Pump,'  I  mean.  Is  he  to  be  allowed  all 
over  the  place  to  do  as  he  pleases  ?  His  scal- 
ing-ladders are  littering  up  the  bluffs  —  not 
that  they  incommode  the  bluffs  any ;  but  if 
I  lived  here,  I  should  want  to  brush  them 
away  as  I  would  sweep  the  cobwebs  from  my 
walls." 

"  I  do  not  own  the  bluffs,"  she  said  in  a  dis- 
tant, tremulous  voice. 

But  the  true  answer  to  my  question,  as  I 
surmise,  was  the  sudden,  helpless  flush  which 
rose,  wave  upon  wave,  covering  her  poor  little 
face,  blotting  out  all  expression  but  that  of 
painful  girlish  shame.  Here,  if  I  'm  not  mis- 
taken, will  be  found  the  heart  of  the  difficulty. 
Miss  Malcolm's  sympathies  are  evidently  with 
compressed  air  rather  than  with  electrical 
transmission.  I  shall  tell  Tom  he  need  waste 


258  THE  HARSHAW  BRIDE 

no  more  arguments  on  her.    Let  him  first  com- 
pound with  his  rival  of  the  pump. 

I  suppose  there  is  just  such  a  low,  big  moon 
as  this  looking  in  upon  you  where  you  sit,  you 
little  dot  of  a  woman,  lost  in  the  piazza  perspec- 
tives of  the  Coronado  ;  and  you  might  think 
small  things  of  our  present  habitation  —  a  little 
tent  among  the  bushes,  with  wind-blown  weeds 
against  the  moon,  shifting  their  shadow-pat- 
terns over  our  canvas  walls.  But  you  'd  not 
think  small  things  of  our  Sand  Springs  Fall  by 
night,  that  glimmers  on  the  dark  cliff  opposite 

—  cliff,  and  mist-like  cataract,  and  the  low 
moon  throwing  the  shadow  of  the  bluff  across 
it,  all  repeated  in  the  stiller,  darker  picture  of 
the  lagoon.  I  shall  not  inflict  much  of  this  sort 
of  thing  upon  you ;  but  the  senseless  beauty 
of  it  all  gives  one  a  heartache.    Why  should 
it  be  here,  where  you  and  I  shall  never  see  it 
together  —  where  I  shall  leave  it  soon,  never 
to  see  it  again  ?  Tom  says  we  are  coming  back 

—  when  the  great  scheme  is  under  way.    Ah, 
the  scheme,  the  scheme  !    It   looks  very  far 
away  to-night,  and  so  do  some  other  schemes 
that  I  had  set  my  heart  on  unaware,  foolish 
old  woman  that  I  am.    As  if  there  was  only 


THE  HARSHAW  BRIDE  259 

one  way  in  this  world  for  young  men  and 
women  to  be  happy  ! 

Harshaw  brought  me  your  sweet  letter  yes- 
terday. It  was  stage-day,  and  he  went  up  over 
the  bluffs  to  the  ferry  mail-box  at  the  cross- 
roads, where  the  road  to  Shoshone  Falls 
branches  from  the  road  to  Bliss. 

I  read  to  Kitty  what  you  wrote  me  about 
the  Garretts  and  their  children,  and  the  going 
to  New  York  and  then  to  Paris.  (Thank  you 
so  much,  dear,  for  your  prompt  interest  in  my 
little  bride  that  is  n't  to  be !)  She  had  two 
letters  of  her  own  which  she  had  read  by  her- 
self, and  afterward  I  thought  she  had  been 
crying ;  but  with  her  it  is  best  not  to  press 
the  note  of  sympathy.  Neither  does  she  like 
me  to  handle  her  affairs  with  gloves  on,  so  to 
speak.  So  I  plunged  into  the  business  in  a 
matter-of-fact  tone,  and  she  replied  in  the  same. 
Her  objection  is  to  going  east  to  New  York, 
and  then  to  the  other  side.  "  I  had  rather  stay 
in  California,"  she  said,  "or  anywhere  in  the 
West."  Naturally ;  westward  lies  the  way  of 
escape  from  social  complications. 

She  is  afraid  of  the  Percifers,  and  of  meet- 
ing people  she  knows  in  Paris.  But  an  offer 
like  this  was  exceptional  in  this  part  of  the 


260  THE  HARSHAW  BRIDE 

world,  I  reminded  her.  A  nurse  for  the  boy, 
a  maid,  and  only  two  little  girls  of  eight  and 
ten  on  her  hands ;  and  such  nice  people  as  the 
Garretts,  who  have  been  all  over  the  world  ! 

"  Well,"  she  said,  "  I  should  certainly  like 
to  get  away  from  here  as  soon  as  possible. 
From  here,  not  from  you  !  "  she  added,  looking 
me  in  the  face.  Her  eyes  were  full  of  tears. 
We  clasped  hands  on  that. 

"  What  is  it  ?  Has  anything  else  hap- 
pened ? "  I  asked ;  for  I  knew  by  her  looks 
that  something  had. 

"  Oh,  dear !  "  she  sighed,  "  I  should  so  like 
to  take  myself  and  my  troubles  seriously  once 
in  a  while.  No  sooner  do  I  try,  but  something 
perfectly  farcical  is  sure  to  happen.  If  I  tell 
you  this,  promise  me  you  won't  laugh.  It 's 
indecent  for  me  to  laugh ;  mamma  would  never 
forgive  me.  The  old  dear !  I  *m  so  fond  of 
him !  " 

The  "  old  dear,"  it  seems,  is  Micky's  father 
—  a  very  superior  sort  of  father  for  such  a 
son  to  have,  but  accidents  will  happen  in 
the  best-regulated  families.  He  is  a  gallant 
widower  of  fair  estate,  one  of  those  splendid 
old  club-men  of  London  ;  a  very  expensive  arti- 
cle of  old  gentleman,  with  fine  old-fashioned 


THE  HARSHAW  BRIDE  261 

manners  and  morals,  and  a  few  stray  impulses 
left,  it  would  seem  by  what  follows.  Accord- 
ing to  the  father's  code,  the  son  has  not  con- 
ducted himself  in  his  engagement  to  Kitty 
Corny n  as  a  gentleman  should.  Thereupon  the 
head  of  the  house  goes  to  Miss  Kitty's  mother 
and  makes  the  amende  honorable  by  offering 
his  hand  and  heart  and  fortune  to  his  son's 
insulted  bride !  The  mother  is  touched  and 
pleased  not  a  little  by  this  prompt  espousal  of 
her  daughter's  cause ;  and  having  wiped  away 
all  tears  from  her  eyes,  this  gallant  old  gen- 
tleman is  coming  over  to  America,  for  the  first 
time  in  his  life,  to  make  his  proposal  to  the 
bride  herself !  He  is  not  so  old,  to  get  down 
to  particulars ;  sixty-three  does  n't  look  so  old 
to  some  of  us  as  it  does  to  Miss  Kitty.  He  is 
in  fine  health,  I  doubt  not,  and  magnificently 
preserved.  Kitty's  mother  is  not  at  all  averse, 
as  I  gather,  to  this  way  of  settling  her  child's 
difficulties.  She  rather  pleadingly  assures 
Kitty  that  Mr.  Harshaw  senior  has  solemnly 
sworn  that  this  is  no  unpleasant  duty  he  feels 
called  on  to  perform ;  not  only  his  honor,  but 
his  affections  are  profoundly  enlisted  in  this 
proposal.  Kitty  has  had  for  years  a  sacred 
place  in  his  regard ;  and  from  thinking  of  her 


262  THE  HARSHAW  BRIDE 

as  a  daughter  absolutely  after  his  own  heart,  it 
is  but  a  step  to  think  of  her  in  a  still  nearer 
—  the  nearest  —  relation.  He  begs  her  mother 
to  prepare  her  for  no  perfunctory  offer  of  mar- 
riage, but  one  that  warms  with  every  day's 
delay  till  he  can  take  the  dear  child  under 
his  lifelong  protection.  Not  to  punish  or  to 
redress  does  he  come,  but  to  secure  for  him- 
self and  posterity  a  treasure  which  his  son  had 
trampled  under  foot.  Somehow  we  did  not 
feel  like  laughing,  after  all.  Kitty,  I  think, 
is  a  little  frightened.  She  cannot  reach  her 
mother,  even  with  a  cable  dispatch,  before  this 
second  champion  will  arrive. 

"  He 's  an  awfully  grand  old  fellow,  you 
know.  I  could  never  talk  to  him  as  I  do  to 
the  boys.  If  he  thinks  it  his  duty  to  marry 
me,  I  don't  know  if  I  can  help  myself.  Poor 
Uncle  George  !  I  've  always  called  him ' uncle' 
like  his  own  nieces,  who  are  all  my  friends.  I 
never  thought  that  I  should  be  ' poor-ing' 
Uncle  George !  But  he  can't  have  heard  yet 
of  Micky's  marriage.  Fancy  his  going  down  to 
the  ranch  to  stay  with  Micky  and  that  woman  ! 
And  then  for  a  girl  like  me  to  toss  him  aside, 
after  such  a  journey  and  such  kindness  !  I 
don't  know  how  I  shall  ever  have  courage  to 


THE  HARSHAW  BRIDE  263 

do  it.  There  are  fine  women  in  London  who 
would  jump  at  the  chance  of  being  Mrs.  Har- 
shaw  —  not  Mrs.  Micky,  nor  Mrs.  Stephen,  nor 
Mrs.  Sidney,  but  Mrs.  Harshaw,  you  under- 
stand ?  "  I  understood. 

"  And  now,"  she  said,  producing  the  second 
letter,  "  you  will  laugh  !  And  you  may  !  " 

The  envelope  contained  a  notification,  in  due 
form,  of  the  arrival  from  New  York,  charges 
not  paid,  of  some  five  hundred  pounds  of 
second-class  freight  consigned  to  Mrs.  Har- 
shaw, Harshaw's  ranch,  Glenn's  Ferry  (via 
Bisuka). 

"  These  things  belong  to  me,"  said  Kitty. 
"  They  cost  me  the  last  bit  of  money  I  had 
that  was  my  own.  Mrs.  Percifer,  who  is  so 
clever  at  managing,  persuaded  me  I  should 
need  them  directly  on  the  ranch  —  curtains 
and  rugs  and  china,  and  heaven  knows  what ! 
She  nearly  killed  me,  dragging  me  about  those 
enormous  New  York  shops.  She  said  it  would 
be  far  and  away  cheaper  and  better  to  buy 
them  there.  I  did  n't  mind  about  anything,  I 
was  so  scared  and  homesick ;  I  did  whatever 
she  said.  She  saw  to  getting  them  off,  I  sup- 
pose. That  must  have  been  her  idea,  direct- 
ing them  to  Mrs.  Harshaw.  She  thought  there 


264  THE  HARSHAW  BRIDE 

would  be  no  Kitty  Comyn,  no  me,  when  these 
got  here.  And  there  is  n't ;  this  is  not  the 
Kitty  Comyn  who  left  England  —  six  weeks, 
is  it  ?  —  or  six  years  ago  !  " 

"  How  did  the  letter  reach  you  ?  "  I  asked. 
We  examined  the  envelope.  It  bore  the  post- 
mark, not  of  Bisuka,  but  of  Glenn's  Ferry, 
which  is  the  nearest  post-office  to  the  Harshaw 
ranch.  Micky's  wife  had  doubtless  opened  the 
letter,  and  Micky,  perceiving  where  the  error 
lay,  had  reinclosed,  but  some  one  else  had 
directed  it  —  the  postmaster,  probably,  at  his 
request  —  to  Kitty,  at  our  camp.  That  was 
rather  a  nice  little  touch  in  Micky,  that  last 
about  the  direction. 

"  Come,  he  is  honest,  at  the  least,"  I  said, 
"  whether  Mrs.  Micky  would  have  scrupled  or 
not.  She  could  claim  the  things  if  she  chose." 

"She  is  quite  welcome,"  said  Kitty.  "I 
don't  know  what  in  the  world  I  shall  do  with 
them.  There  '11  be  boxes  and  bales  and  barrels 
—  enough  to  bury  me  and  all  my  troubles.  I 
might  build  me  a  funeral  pyre  !  " 

We  fell  into  each  other's  arms  and  screamed 
with  laughter. 

"  Kitty,  we  '11  have  an  auction,"  I  cried. 
"  There 's  nothing  succeeds  like  an  auction 


THE  HARSHAW  BRIDE  265 

out  here.    We  '11  sell  the  things  at  boom  prices 
—  we  '11  sell  everything." 

"  But  the  bride,"  said  Kitty;  "you  will  have 
to  keep  the  bride."  And  without  a  moment's 
warning,  from  laughing  till  she  wept,  she  be- 
gan to  weep  in  earnest.  I  have  n't  seen  her 
cry  so  since  she  came  to  us,  not  even  that  mis- 
erable first  night.  She  struggled  with  herself, 
and  seemed  dreadfully  ashamed,  and  angry 
with  me  that  I  should  have  seen  her  cry.  Did 
she  suppose  I  thought  she  was  crying  because 
she  was  n't  going  to  be  a  bride,  after  all  ? 

"  Oh,  Mrs.  Daly,  I  feel  so  ill !  "  were  Kitty's 
first  words  to  me  when  I  woke  this  morning. 
I  looked  her  over  and  questioned  her,  and 
concluded  that  a  sleepless  night,  with  not 
very  pleasant  thoughts  for  company,  might 
be  held  responsible  for  a  good  share  of  her 
wretchedness. 

"  What  were  you  lying  awake  about  ?  Your 
new  champion,  Uncle  George  ?  "  I  asked 
her. 

She  owned  that  it  was.  "  Don't  you  see, 
Mrs.  Daly,  mamma  does  n't  leave  room  for 
the  possibility  of  my  refusing  him.  And  if 
I  do  refuse  him,  he  '11  simply  take  me  back  to 


266  THE  HARSHAW  BRIDE 

England,  and  then,  between  him  and  mamma, 
and  all  of  them,  I  don't  know  what  may  hap- 
pen." 

"  Kitty,"  I  said,  "  no  girl  who  has  just  es- 
caped from  one  unhappy  engagement  is  going 
to  walk  straight  into  another  with  her  eyes 
wide  open.  I  won't  believe  you  could  be  so 
foolish  as  that." 

"  You  don't  understand,"  she  said,  "  what 
the  pressure  will  be  at  home  —  in  all  love  and 
kindness,  of  course.  And  you  don't  know 
Uncle  George,  He  is  so  sure  that  I  need  him, 
he'll  force  me  to  take  him.  He'll  take  me 
back  to  England  in  any  case." 

"  And  would  you  not  like  to  go,  Kitty  ?  " 
"  Ah,  would  n't  I !    But  not  in  that  way." 
She  sat  up  in  her  flannel  camp-gown,  and 
began  to  braid  up  her  loosened  hair. 

"  Kitty,"  I  commanded,  "  lie  down.  You 
are  not  to  get  up  till  luncheon." 

"  I  have  a  plan,"  she  said,  "  and  I  must  see 
Cecil  Harshaw  ;  he  must  help  me  carry  it  out. 
There  is  no  one  else  who  can." 
"  You  have  all  day  to  see  him  in." 
"  Not   all  day,   Mrs.  Daly.     He  must  be 
ready  to  start  to-morrow.     Uncle  George  will 
reach  Bisuka  on  the  fifteenth,  not  later.  Cecil 


THE  HARSHAW  BRIDE  267 

must  meet  him  there  ;  first,  to  prepare  him  for 
Micky's  new  arrangement,  and  second,  to  per- 
suade him  that  he  does  not  owe  me  an  offer 
of  marriage  in  consequence.  Cecil  will  know 
how  to  manage  it ;  he  must  know  !  I  will  not 
have  any  more  of  the  Harshaws  offering  them- 
selves as  substitutes.  It  will  be  very  strange 
if  I  cannot  exist  without  them  somehow." 

It  struck  me  that  the  poor  child's  boast 
was  a  little  premature,  as  she  seemed  to  be 
making  rather  free  use  of  one  of  the  substi- 
tutes still,  as  a  shield  against  the  others ;  but 
it  was  of  a  piece  with  the  rest  of  the  com- 
edy. I  kept  her  in  bed  till  she  had  had  a  cup 
of  tea ;  afterward  she  slept  a  little,  and  about 
noon  she  dressed  herself  and  gave  Cecil  his 
audience.  But  first,  at  her  request,  I  had 
possessed  him  with  the  main  facts  and  given 
him  an  inkling  of  what  was  expected  of  him. 
His  face  changed ;  he  looked  as  he  did  after 
his  steeplechase  the  day  I  saw  him  first,  — 
except  that  he  was  cleaner,  —  grave,  excited, 
and  resolved.  He  had  taken  the  bit  in  his 
teeth.  When  substitute  meets  substitute  in 
a  cause  like  this  !  I  would  have  left  them 
to  have  their  little  talk  by  themselves,  but 
Kitty  signified  peremptorily  that  she  wished 


268  THE  HARSHAW  BRIDE 

me  to  stay,  with  a  flushed,  appealing  look 
that  softened  the  nervous  tension  of  her 
manner. 

"  I  would  do  anything  on  earth  for  you, 
Kitty,"  Cecil  said  most  gently  and  fervently  ; 
"but  don't  ask  me  to  give  advice  —  to  Uncle 
George  of  all  men  —  on  a  question  of  this  kind 
—  unless  you  will  allow  me  to  be  perfectly 
frank." 

"  It 's  a  family  question,"  said  Kitty,  ignor- 
ing his  proviso. 

"I  think  it  would  get  to  be  a  personal 
question  very  soon  between  Uncle  George  and 
me.  No  ;  I  meddled  in  one  family  question 
not  very  long  ago." 

"  It 's  very  strange,"  said  Kitty  restlessly, 
"  if  you  can't  help  me  out  of  this  in  some  way. 
I  cannot  be  so  disrespectful  to  him,  the  dear 
old  gentleman !  He  ought  not  to  be  put  in 
such  a  position,  or  I  either.  How  would  you 
like  it  if  it  were  your  father  ?  " 

Cecil  reddened  handsomely  at  this  home 
thrust.  "  I  'd  have  a  deuce  of  a  time  to  stop 
him  if  he  took  the  notion,  you  know ;  it 's  not 
exactly  a  son's  or  a  nephew's  business.  There 
is  only  one  way  in  which  I  can  help  you,  Kitty. 
You  must  know  that." 


THE  HARSHAW  BRIDE  269 

He  had  struck  a  different  key,  and  his  face 
was  all  one  blush  to  correspond  with  the  new 
note  in  his  voice.  I  think  I  never  saw  a  man- 
lier, more  generous  warmth  of  ardor  and  hu- 
mility, or  listened  to  words  so  simply  uttered 
in  such  telling  tones. 

"  What  way  is  that  ?  "  asked  Kitty  coldly. 

"  Forgive  me  !  I  could  tell  him  that  you  are 
engaged  to  me." 

"  That  would  be  a  nice  way  —  to  tell  him  a 
falsehood !  I  should  hope  I  had  been  humili- 
ated enough  "  — 

She  snatched  her  handkerchief  from  her 
belt  and  pressed  it  to  her  burning  face.  I 
rose  again  to  go.  "  Sit  still,  pray  !  "  she  mur- 
mured. 

"  It  need  not  be  a  falsehood,  Kitty.  Let  it 
be  anything  you  like.  You  may  trust  me  not 
to  take  advantage.  A  nominal  engagement, 
if  you  choose,  just  to  meet  this  exigency; 
or"  — 

"  That  would  be  cheating,"  cried  Kitty. 

"  The  cheat  would  bear  a  little  harder  on 
me  than  on  any  one  else,  I  think." 

"  You  are  too  good  !  "  Kitty  smiled  disdain- 
fully. "  First  you  offer  yourself  to  me  as  a 
cure,  and  now  as  a  preventive." 


270  THE  HARSHAW  BRIDE 

"  Kitty,  I  think  you  ought  at  least  to  take 
him  seriously,"  I  remonstrated. 

"  By  all  that 's  sacred,  you  '11  find  it 's  seri- 
ous with  me  !  "  Cecil  ejaculated. 

"Since  when?"  retorted  Kitty.  "How 
many  weeks  ago  is  it  that  I  came  out  here  by 
your  contrivance  to  marry  your  cousin  ?  Is 
that  the  way  a  man  shows  his  seriousness? 
You  sacrificed  more  to  marry  me  to  Micky 
than  some  men  would  to  win  a  girl  them- 
selves." 

"  I  did,  and  for  that  very  reason,"  said  Cecil. 

"  I  should  like  to  see  you  prove  it !  " 

"  Kitty,  excuse  me,"  I  interrupted.  "  / 
should  like  to  ask  Mr.  Harshaw  one  question, 
if  he  does  not  mind.  Do  you  happen  to  have 
that  picture  about  you,  Mr.  Harshaw  ?  " 

I  thought  I  was  looking  at  him  very  kindly, 
not  at  all  like  an  inquisitor,  but  his  face  was 
set  and  stern.  I  doubt  if  he  perceived  or 
looked  for  my  intention. 

"  '  That  picture/  Mrs.  Daly  ?  "  he  repeated. 

"  The  photograph  of  a  young  lady  that  you 
jumped  into  the  river  to  save  —  don't  you  re- 
member ?  " 

Cecil  smiled  slightly,  and  glanced  at  Kitty. 
"  Did  I  say  it  was  a  photograph  of  a  lady  ?  " 


THE  HARSHAW  BRIDE  271 

"  No ;  you  did  not.  But  do  you  deny  that 
it  was?" 

"  Certainly  not,  Mrs.  Daly.  I  have  the  pic- 
ture with  me ;  I  always  have  it." 

"  And  do  you  think  that  looks  like  serious- 
ness ?  To  be  making  such  protestations  to  one 
girl  with  the  portrait  of  another  in  your  coat 
pocket?  We  have  none  of  us  forgotten,  I 
think,  that  little  conversation  by  the  river." 

He  saw  my  meaning  now,  and  thanked  me 
with  a  radiant  look.  "  Here  is  the  picture,  Mrs. 
Daly.  Whose  portrait  did  you  think  it  was  ? 
Surely  you  might  have  known,  Kitty  !  This  is 
the  girl  I  wanted  years  ago  and  have  wanted 
ever  since ;  but  she  belonged  to  another  man, 
and  the  man  was  my  friend.  I  tried  to  save 
that  man  from  insulting  her  and  dishonoring 
himself,  because  I  thought  she  loved  him.  Or, 
if  he  could  n't  be  saved,  I  wanted  to  expose 
him  and  save  her.  And  I  risked  my  own  honor 
to  do  it,  and  a  great  fool  I  was  for  my  pains. 
But  this  is  the  last  time  I  shall  make  a  fool  of 
myself  for  your  sake,  Kitty." 

I  rose  now  in  earnest,  and  I  would  not  be 
stayed.  In  point  of  fact,  nobody  tried  to  stay 
me.  Kitty  was  looking  at  her  own  face  with 
eyes  as  dim  as  the  little  water-stained  photo- 


272  THE  HARSHAW  BRIDE 

graph  she  held.  And  Cecil  was  on  his  knees 
beside  her,  whispering,  "  I  stole  it  from 
Micky's  room  at  the  ranch.  That  was  no  place 
for  it,  anyhow.  May  I  not  have  one  of  my 
own,  Kitty  ?  " 

I  think  he  will  get  one  —  of  his  own  Kitty. 

Our  rival  schemer,  Mr.  Norman  Fleet,  has 
arrived,  and  electrical  transmission  has  shaken 
hands  with  compressed  air.  The  millennium 
must  be  on  the  way,  for  never  did  two  men 
want  so  nearly  the  same  thing,  and  yet  agree 
to  take  each  what  the  other  does  not  need. 

Mr.  Fleet  does  not  "  want  the  earth,  "  either, 
nor  all  the  waters  thereof ;  but  the  most  as- 
tonishing thing  is,  he  does  n't  want  the  Snow 
Bank  !  He  not  only  does  n't  want  it  himself, 
but  is  perfectly  willing  that  Tom  should  have 
it.  In  fact,  do  what  we  will,  it  seems  to  be 
impossible  for  us  to  tread  on  the  tail  of  that 
young  man's  coat.  But  having  heard  a  little 
bird  whisper  that  he  is  in  love,  and  successfully 
so,  I  am  not  so  surprised  at  his  amiability. 
Neither  am  I  altogether  unprepared,  if  the  little 
bird's  whisper  be  true,  for  the  fact  that  Miss 
Malcolm  is  becoming  reconciled  to  Tom's  de- 
signs upon  her  beloved  scenery.  For  the  sake 


THE  HARSHAW  BRIDE  273 

of  consistency,  and  that  pure  devotion  to  the 
Beautiful,  so  rare  in  this  sordid  age,  I  could 
have  wished  that  she  had  not  weakened  so 
suddenly  ;  but  for  Tom's  sake  I  am  very  glad. 
She  is  clay  in  the  hands  of  the  potter,  now  that 
she  knows  my  husband  does  not  want  "  all  the 
water,"  and  that  his  success  does  not  mean  the 
failure  of  Mr.  Norman  Fleet. 

Harshaw  will  take  the  Snow  Bank  scheme 
when  he  takes  Kitty  back  to  London.  If  he 
promotes  it,  I  tell  Tom,  after  the  fashion  in 
which  he  "  boomed  "  Kitty's  marriage  to  his 
cousin,  we  're  not  likely  to  see  either  him  or 
the  Snow  Bank  again.  But  "  Harshaw  is  all 
right,"  Tom  says;  and  I  believe  that  the  luck 
is  with  him. 


<3Tbe  fiitoertibe 

Eltctrotyped  and  printed  by  H.  O.  Houghtott  &•  Co. 
Cambridge,  Mast.,  U.S.  A. 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 
BERKELEY 

Return  to  desk  from  *«'v"  -*•  »v>wvr~ ^ 


908941 


THE.  UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


